


The Clothes Don't Make The Man

by Medie



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about saving the world, sometimes you're the one that needs saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a prompt from [](http://community.livejournal.com/worlds_finest/profile)[**worlds_finest**](http://community.livejournal.com/worlds_finest/). Hurt/comfort, where Bruce has been injured, and tries to resist Clark's help in his recovery. He eventually gives in. Crossover Superman Returns/Batman Begins movieverse. Much thanks to [](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/profile)[**havocthecat**](http://havocthecat.livejournal.com/) for the hand-holding and nitpicking through this part. BTW for those wondering how I envision Bruce's Matches Malone in this AU [here](http://www.imdb.com/media/rm1737726208/tt0253556?ref_=ttmi_mi_all_pbl_35)

Never put a pig in a suit, you'll just ruin the suit. Ever want an example of that, you don't gotta look any farther than Bruno Mannheim. Matches Malone'd met a lot of guys over the years, some pretty slimy ones too, but nobody beat Bruno.

"Whaddya think, boys?" Bruno asked. He swaggered into the palatial suite, his arms wide and outstretched to indicate the room. "How's this one grab you?" He turned, grinning broadly at Matches and Flint. "I think I could get to liking this city."

Matches hated Metropolis. Too bright, too cheerful, and too fuckin' exposed. He looked out at the skyline, watching for the telltale flash of blue and red.

"You sure about this, Boss?" he asked. "Metropolis?"

Mannheim grinned, settling in at his desk. "Fuck, yes. You looked around lately? Metropolis is the shining jewel of the new age, or so they say." He put his feet up. "And with everybody on the run, the business opportunities are ripe."

"They're ripe for a reason, Boss," Matches insisted. "Big Blue tends to take it personal when you pull shit in his city."

Something in him stirred with the thought; agreed with it. He quashed it, shoved it down, and did his fucking best to ignore it. "I'm no coward, but there's the Bat and then there's him. Superman is fucking hardcore."

Mannheim grinned wider. "All in how you handle it, Matches. The way I figure it, we avoid being too obvious about it, and Big Blue'll occupy himself with whatever loudmouth gets in his face. You said it yourself, Matches. Superman's not the Batman. This guy's all flash in the pan. He's got no substance; it's all about the photo-ops. He catches planes, moves mountains, and he probably gets kittens out of trees on the weekend. This guy doesn't do subtle. I figure we keep to ourselves and Superman'll do the same."

Matches wasn't so sure about that. Superman was the one to break the racket in Metropolis in the first place. Stood to reason, he wouldn't be so excited about seeing something new take its place. Not that it was a good idea to tell Bruno that.

He might not've been a college grad, but Matches wasn't an idiot. . Matches was new to the outfit, still up and coming, but he learned fast and he had eyes. He knew when Bruno wasn't in the mood to hear something and he wasn't in the mood to hear this one. Last thing that Bruno wanted to hear was another plan wasn't going to work. Not after everything had gone ass up in Gotham like it did.

When the Bat strung Falcone up, and the Narrows went to hell, Matches had been reborn. At least, that's how it felt. He'd been aimless before that, but then that mess came down and blown everybody to hell and back. He'd come right out of that mess and slid into Falcone's operation, filling up space left vacant by the Gotham PD.

The way Gordon and his team had started busting people left, right, and center had made it so easy that Matches figured he ought to send the guy flowers.

Gordon had pretty much made him, though he figured the lieutenant wouldn't see it that way. Either way, Matches had slid into the outfit just in time to watch Bruno make a play for Boss.

Bruno's sudden relocation to Metropolis said just how good that went. A few boys, Matches included, had gone with him.

"Don't worry about it, Matches," Bruno said. "All else fails, I got me some pretty interesting sources. We got Superman good and covered."

Matches didn't like the sound of that one. Something in Bruno's voice said he didn't want to ask. "Okay, not gonna argue that one," Matches said. He flopped down in a chair, stretching his legs out as he thumped one fist against the leather upholstery. "You and the Metropolis boys figure out when you're gonna meet?"

"Took 'em a fucking dog's age, but yeah," Bruno said. "We got it covered. It's all set for tomorrow night." He took out one of his cigars, lighting it.

"All goes well; tomorrow night there's a new outfit in town."

"With you all set up as Boss?" Matches asked.

Bruno smirked. "Yeah, Matches, with me all set up as Boss." He turned in the chair, looking out on the city like a king surveying his kingdom. "I'm thinking of callin' it Intergang. What do you think?"

Matches nodded. "Sounds good to me. Kinda like the UN of crime or somethin'."

"That's what I figured," Bruno said. "Makes sense too. All us boys coming together after getting beat down. Almost makes a guy feel patriotic or something."

Bruno stood up, but kept his back turned to Matches and the boys as he walked to the window. "Metropolis is just what we need, boys. Nice, quiet, and Bat-free. I think I could get to liking it here."

-

"Fucking glass elevators," Matches grumbled. He slammed a fist into the panel, depressing one of the buttons. "Hate 'em," he said. "You can see everything. I swear everything in this whole fucking city's made of glass."

"No kidding," Flint said. Flint was a scrawny guy. Not much brains, but big on loyalty. Harmless enough. Matches kind of liked him, most of the time. Flint looked over his shoulder and out at the city. "Think Big Blue likes it this way? See everything that's going on?"

Matches slumped against the elevator wall, folding his arms. "Guy can see through concrete, Flint. Don't think he gives a rat's ass whether or not the walls are made outta glass."

"Yeah," Flint mirrored his posture. "True." He scuffed the tip of his shoe against the floor. "You think Bruno's right? Think we can make something out of this place?"

"Hope so," Matches said. He picked his words careful. Flint was loyal enough, but Matches wasn't so sure to whom. "Superman's gonna be a pain in the ass to deal with. Not so sure he's gonna ignore us as much as Bruno thinks, but y'know, what the fuck do I know?"

Flint shrugged. "Beats the shit out of me," he said. "You and Bruno, you know what you're doing. You guys'll figure something out." He lifted his gaze, looking past Matches as the sky. "God, it's too damn clean in this city," he said, a laugh stuttering from him. "Can't get used to how fucking clean it is. You notice, Matches? It's like the whole place kinda shines. It's freaky as hell."

Matches nodded. "Yeah, I know. It ain't Gotham, that's for damn sure."

-

Hovering unseen atop the elevator, Superman listened to the conversation with a frown. "Too clean?" he echoed. "That's -- " he thought about Gotham and its perpetually dingy, pollution-plagued streets. A small suggestion of a smile tugged at his lips. "I suppose perspective counts for something."

Still, perspective aside, he found himself wanting to defend his city. As silly as it probably was, he felt Metropolis deserved better than being insulted by two thugs.

Superman took a calming breath. "Take it easy, Clark," he warned himself. The whole thing could almost be funny if it wasn't for Bruno Mannheim and his plans. With Lex's disappearance, he'd been free to turn his attention to the other problems that plagued Metropolis. He'd started by breaking the back of the mob in the city. It had been his gift to the denizens of the city so happy to see him back and an atonement for years spent on a wild goose chase.

It hadn't been easy and it hadn't been quick. He'd been forced to gradually shift his public persona's journalistic interests towards the seedier side of the city. Few people had noticed the change in Clark and, mercifully, most had attributed it to his 'sabbatical'. None of them had been worried enough to look deeper.

But it had been a risk and one that Clark didn't like taking. Now that was all in jeopardy.

Angry, he looked down at the elevator. A slight push of his ocular muscles and he was looking past the metal ceiling into the car itself. The two thugs had fallen silent; all he could hear was the sound of their breathing, as they waited for the elevator to reach its destination. Unfortunate, he'd been hoping to gather more intel, but Clark took the opportunity to observe them both.

The younger one, Flint, wasn't much interest as yet. He was young and reeked of inexperience. The way he kept glancing at his companion and mirroring the man's actions spoke of it. Flint was little more than Bruno's errand boy.

The other one, however...

The other one had his attention. There was something about Matches Malone that intrigued him. Superman floated closer, risking discovery, as he stared through the ceiling. Malone was no one's fool. His research as Clark hadn't turned up much on the man. A small-time gang lord whose territory had been swallowed up in the turf wars between Carmine Falcone, Rupert Throne, and Sal Maroni. He'd fallen in with Falcone's lot after the Narrows and followed Bruno to Metropolis after the failed coup.

On paper it all made sense.

Watching the man now, however, Superman couldn't say that anymore. There was something in Malone's eyes.

He frowned. Matches Malone needed watching.

Close watching.

-

He was being followed. Didn't have a fucking clue who it was, but Matches knew. He stopped, looking over his shoulder, and grinned to see empty street.

He took a corner, stepping into the street. Drivers politely came to a stop, letting him cross. "Fuck, this town is creepy," he said. "Gimme a mugging and a couple flashers any fucking day of the week."

Still, he hurried across the street, looking over his shoulder all the way. This was probably why he walked into a wall.

Or, at least, that was what it felt like.

The wall grabbed him by the shoulder and, before Matches knew it, he was airborne.

"Oh shit," he breathed, looking into Superman's angry gaze.

-

It was just a second, and Flint didn't really get a good look, but the flash of red caught his eye so he looked.

"Fuck," he said. "If Matches got pinched by Big Blue, Bruno's gonna throw a fit."

He turned around and headed back toward Bruno's place at a run.

-

Matches Malone wasn't afraid of heights, not usually, but flying over Metropolis without a plane? "This just ain't natural," he shouted, grabbing fistfuls of cape.

He thought he saw Superman grin and pretty much hated him for it. "Put me down!"

That got the alien's attention. Superman brought them to a stop and looked down meaningfully. "I don't think you want me to do that," he said, as calm as if they were having afternoon tea. Matches'd never had it, but he figured you were calm when you had it.

Matches leaned over, looking down. "Oh God," he gulped. "Don't, man. Just..." he pressed his face against Superman's chest. "Don't."

Superman chuckled. "I'm not in the habit of murdering people, Mr. Malone."

Gusting out a breath, Matches ignored the firm chest he'd been pressed against. "Yeah, well, try not to 'accidentally' drop me, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Superman said. They began to descend. It was slower than their ascent, but Matches still refused to look down until he felt the gravel of a rooftop beneath his boots. "Better?"

"Fuck, yes," Matches tried to break free, but the alien held firm. "Lemme go, man!"

"Not until we have a little talk," Superman said. "Where's Mannheim's meeting going down?"

Matches grinned. Aha. So the boy in blue wasn't useless after all. "Wondered if you'd find out about that," he said. "And I ain't tellin'."

Superman frowned and they lifted off again. "No?" he smiled. "Then maybe we need to go higher the next time? You're going to tell me where that meeting is going to be, Mr. Malone, and that's all there is to it."

If nothing else was going to take Matches' mind off his current predicament, that did. He snickered. "Listen, Big Blue, I know you've got a job you've gotta do. You do it real good too; that catching planes and trains, and saving puppies and babies thing? It's good of you. People need that kind of stuff, y'know? They really need their heroes. It's great of you; you keep it up, but this thing with Bruno? Yeah, you really should just let that one go. Sometimes, it's safer just to stay out of the way."

Superman's eyes narrowed and his grip on Matches tightened. Considering, they were about six feet off the roof and climbing, Matches wasn't really complaining.

"Are you threatening me?" the alien asked. His voice took on a note of menace that sounded more like Gotham's Dark Knight than Metropolis's Angel. Matches kinda liked the change. Something deep in him didn't. It shifted as it decided to throw the alien a bone.

"No, you idiot," Batman growled, pushing the Matches persona aside. "I am trying to help you."

Superman's upward progress halted as if someone had grabbed hold of his cape. He looked at Batman with shocked eyes. "You?" he asked.

"Me," Batman said. From behind the shield of Matches' beard, he smirked. "Would you mind putting me down?"

-

Batman. The revelation sent the universe spinning around him. Batman was in Metropolis, undercover, and in his arms. He was holding Gotham's smirking Dark Knight in his arms, pressed against him with hands on his waist.

Well, when he'd heard Bruno Mannheim coming to town, this was not what he'd had in mind.

"If you don't mind," Batman said, "I prefer to discuss business with terra firma beneath my feet."

Shocked, Superman closed the distance to the rooftop with blurring speed. Before their feet had even touched the gravel, he released the vigilante and swept backward out of reach. He let his cape slide forward, cloaking his shoulders and providing him with a familiar comfort. "I'm sure you have a good explanation for why you're here - unannounced."

He disliked the defensive tone in his voice. While Batman had indeed intruded on his city unannounced, he was acutely aware he'd done the same in the past.

"I'm returning the favor," Batman rasped with a pointed look. He stood a few feet away, watching Superman. Though he wore Matches Malone's leather jacket and suit, it was easy to picture the batsuit on him instead.

Superman sighed, nodding. "Touché."

Smiling smugly, Batman took a step forward. "As I said, I'm here to help," he said. "Mannheim got his start in Gotham, he's my problem."

"The minute he relocated to Metropolis, he became mine," Superman said. "You have enough on your hands, you don't need to come here chasing him."

"Yes, I do," Batman said. "He's here because of my actions and that makes him my responsibility." He looked out at the city and then turned back to Superman with a wry smile. "Besides, you need the help."

"Exactly how's that?" Superman asked.

"You can't drive criminals out of Metropolis," Batman said, blandly. "As much as I'd like to do the same, it's just not feasible. Power abhors a vacuum."

Superman looked away before he rolled his eyes. "While the advice is appreciated, Batman, I can handle this."

"That meeting is going to go ahead, no matter what you do," Batman continued, ignoring him. Superman folded his arms, his fingers digging into the material of his suit. "Mannheim is determined to establish himself in this city and he will. Thanks to your efforts, none of the former families in this city is strong enough to oppose them."

"You never intended to stop him," Superman said. Anger crept into his voice and he took a step forward.

Batman kept his gaze on the horizon, his expression implacable. "I didn't," he said. "This was about intelligence gathering," he finally looked at Superman. "And gaining myself a foothold in Bruno's organization. He's going to need a point man in Gotham City, and Matches Malone will be that point man."

"Giving you the street credibility you need," Superman said, frustrated. "You didn't come here to help at all." He refused to acknowledge the pang of disappointment that lanced through him at the revelation. He spun, leaning on the roof's wall.

When brick crumbled beneath his fingers, he looked down at it in surprise. He tossed a guilty glance Batman's way, hoping that the Dark Knight hadn't noticed. "Let me guess, you want me to stay out of the way?"

Batman turned. The longer hair and beard made it difficult to discern genuine features, but there was something familiar about the man. "If you would," he said in mild tones. "This can work for you as well, Superman, if you'd let it."

"Oh really?" Composing himself, Superman folded his arms again. "Exactly what gives you that impression?"

"You're a smart man, Superman," Batman said. "At least you purport yourself to be. If you let the meeting go ahead, and allow Mannheim to succeed, you'll have a direct line to his inner circle. Yes, the mob will have returned to Metropolis, but with you privy to its secrets. You can't tell me the idea isn't tempting."

It was and they both knew it. Worse, Batman was right and they both knew that too. The superior glint in Batman's eyes said as much. He leaned against the wall; arms folded across his chest, and grinned. "What do you think?"

What he was thinking, neither Superman nor Clark Kent would say in a hundred years. He exhaled and met Batman's gaze. Those eyes locked on his and, again, he was struck by a wave of familiarity. He'd seen those eyes before...

"Well?" Batman prompted.

"It isn't as if I can stop you," Superman said, annoyed. "You'll do what you want, no matter what I say."

Batman's smirk widened and he nodded. "Of course." He looked down at the city. "I was never asking for your permission," he said. "I'm asking if you'd like to benefit from the situation."

Superman looked at him with assessing eyes. As much as he was loathe to admit it, Batman was right. It had been a mistake to wipe out the organized crime element in the city. He was left with the impending development of an unknown - and potentially more dangerous - organization to replace it. The opportunity to cripple that organization was almost irresistible.

Almost. While he had to admit the man was right, he wasn't in any hurry to admit it. Childish impulse that it was, he was only too happy to keep silent. At least for a few more minutes.

"Well?" Batman prompted.

Superman smiled.

-

"I don't know about this, Boss," Matches said. Opening the car door for Bruno, he cast a look up at the LeMarvin Bistro as he waited for the crime lord to get out. The squat, ivy-covered brick building housed one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Again he felt a sensation of foreboding. "This doesn't look like our kind of place," he said dubiously.

"It is now, Matches. You know the old saying, when in Rome." Standing by the car, Bruno tugged on his gloves and looked up at the bistro with satisfaction. "We're businessmen here, Matches, and businessmen don't conduct business in dark corners of rundown, old spaghetti joints. We'll be finalizing our deal in a private dining room at one of the ritziest joints in town." He grinned, gesturing to the cars pulling in behind them. "Call me crazy, but I kinda like our changes of pulling this off. Don't you?"

"I dunno, Boss," Matches said. The sight of the approaching cars made him move closer to Bruno and slide a hand into his coat. Closing his hand around the comforting weight of his gun, he looked at his boss. "You're the optimist around here; I'm getting paid to be a paranoid cynic." He pressed his other hand to Bruno's back and nudged him toward the bistro's back door. "We'd better get inside before somebody takes a shot at you. Taking a bullet'd be a shitty way to start off the new job."

Bruno laughed, letting Matches move him along. "Wouldn't it just, eh? Finally get everything lined up and BLAM!" He shook his head. "No way, Matches. No way we let this get fucked over now." He stepped inside, brushing the snow from his overcoat. "How many boys we got in here?"

"Counting me and Flint?" Matches shared a nod with the approaching younger man. "Enough. Got a few people slipped in as busboys too." When Flint got close enough, he asked, "Anyone been in there?"

Flint looked at the door to the private dining room. "Not since our guys swept it for bugs."

"Good," Matches said. He scanned the bistro with a practiced eye. LeMarvin catered to a clientele comprised of the city's movers and shakers. At a glance, he recognized two city councilors, the Chief of Police, and a reporter from a local news station. Every last one of them avoided looking their way.

All save one. Matches' gaze lingered on the bespectacled man doing a terrible job of disguising his interest. He didn't look like much, hunched over a bowl of soup, but you never knew. Frowning, Matches grabbed the arm of a passing waitress and pulled her close.

He waved a hundred dollar bill in her face, then nodded in the man's direction. "Who's that? The guy with the glasses."

As if he'd heard the question, the man fumbled his cutlery quite spectacularly. His spoon seemed to sail freely from his hand and trace a graceful arc through the air. It came to a stop with a dramatic splat as it landed on a nearby table.

The man blushed a brilliant red and ducked his head.

Soft laughter rippled through the room and the waitress looked at Matches. She grinned. "Him? Oh, that's Mr. Kent, sir. The reporter from the Daily Planet?" She took the hundred from Matches. "He's a friend of the chef. Claude likes trying new recipes out on him, says he's got the most sensitive taste buds in the country. He's harmless."

Matches let her go. "Right," he said. "Harmless." Deciding to let it go for now, he turned back to Bruno and nodded. "We're good, Boss."

"Great, c'mon boys, let's talk," Bruno said, allowing a hostess to usher himself and his fellow mobsters into the private room.

With a smirk, Matches watched their bodyguards line up against the wall. "Sit down, will ya?" he asked. "For Pete's sake, you look like a fucking chorus line. Order somethin' and look like you're not about to blow somebody's head off."

He shook his head as the sheepish gangsters moved away from the wall, seeking out tables. "Buncha amateurs, no wonder Superman wiped 'em out," he muttered. "I'm gonna check out back, Flint. You keep an eye on this bunch."

Taking up position outside the door, Flint folded his arms. "Got it. You need anything --"

Matches nodded. "Got my cell, gun, and --- " he held up a pack of cigarettes. "I'm good." Ducking down the short hallway, he opened the door and pulled out a cigarette at the same time.

He stood there for a minute, looking out as he tapped the cigarette against the box. Outside, the snow had picked up to fall steadily and the parking lot was a pristine white. When Matches stepped out, his footfalls were muffled by the deepening snow. "Chilly," he said, his breath puffing up into the air.

Other than its automotive inhabitants, the parking lot was empty. Matches lit the cigarette and let it burn down, unsmoked. When it was done, he flicked the butt into the snow and turned around.

Flint was waiting just inside the door.

"Something wrong?" Matches asked, kicking snow off his boots. He cast a glance backward, just in case.

"Nope, nothing I can't handle," Flint said.

When Matches looked back, he didn't like the grin on Flint's face, but it was too late. With a dizzying blur, Flint's hand moved forward and Matches saw something glint.

He spoke, or tried to, but all that came out was an incoherent gurgle. Flint wiped the bloodied knife off on Matches' coat and gave him a shove backward, letting him fall out the door.

Matches slumped into the snow and, lying there, watched it turn red with his blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about saving the world, sometimes you're the one that needs saving.

"Well?"

Clark put down his napkin and smiled at the waitress. "It's fantastic," he said. "Claude's finally got the recipe right. The garnish made all the difference."

Sighing in relief, April smiled. "Oh, thank God. He's been driving us insane working on it." She took his bowl and handed it off to a busboy, her gaze falling on the men at the end of the room. "He'll be so relieved," she said absently.

Following her gaze, Clark frowned. "Is something wrong, April?"

"Not really," April said, turning back. She laughed and shook her head. "I know it's silly, but those mob guys being here has me rattled. I think I keep expecting a scene right out of the Godfather or something."

Clark watched one belch and the other snicker. "Don't think you've got to worry about that." When he saw April wasn't mollified, he quickly added, "I'm sure they wouldn't try anything here. It's too high risk for a hit."

"True!" April's smile returned. "Superman would be on them in a hot second." She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Clark tried not to laugh. "There is that," he said. He'd been thinking the narrow streets around the bistro made it a terrible strategic location, but April did have a point. It wasn't as if he had to go far to arrive.

And it sounded like he had something to do.

"Something wrong?" Batman, as Matches, was saying. The undercurrent of tension in his voice captured Clark's attention.

He tensed, sitting up to look in that direction. Beneath the intensity of his gaze, the walls vanished as he looked through them. What he saw made his heart stop.

"Nothing I can't handle," Flint said. His arm moved rapidly several times, Batman gurgled, and then fell back.

Revealing the bloody knife in Flint's hand.

"Oh my god," Clark breathed.

-

When Mr. Kent got a funny look on his face, April looked in that direction. All she saw was one of the mobsters sucking down a glassful of wine. Disgusting, but not worth the look Mr. Kent had given him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, turning around.

His chair was empty.

"Huh," she said. "At least he paid." She leaned forward, picking up the money. "And left a tip."

"Mr. Kent again?" Lola, one of the other waitresses, asked.

April nodded and they grinned each other. The man was just odd.

-

Clark found Batman in seconds. For another second, he just stared in shock at the sight before him. Gotham's feared Dark Knight on his back as he futilely tried to stop the flow of blood from his midsection.

Batman groaned, reaching up with one bloody hand. Clark grabbed hold, his other one ripping his jacket off. He pressed the shreds to the wound and looked through it. "It's not good," he said, meeting Batman's gaze. "It could be worse, but it's not good. I've got to get you out of here."

He glanced skyward, contemplating his chances of flying out unseen. Batman's hand tightened on his, pulling his gaze back down.

"No," Batman rasped. "They'll see."

At that moment, Clark wasn't sure he gave a damn if the whole city saw him. The bloodstain spreading around him was quickly draining away any care. He mustered up a confident smile to give Batman. "Don't you read the papers?" he asked. "I'm faster than a speeding bullet."

He scooped Batman into his arms, taking to the air before the Dark Knight could protest.

-

At first, Clark didn't know where to take Batman. He knew the man would want it kept quiet, but he could feel the warmth of Batman's blood and knew he didn't have much time.

"No hospitals," Batman muttered. His faint voice could barely be heard over the wind, but Clark couldn't pretend he'd missed it. He just nodded.

The Hobbs' Bay Free Clinic didn't look like much, but that was the point. He didn't want to be seen. Still, he knocked.

"Where are?" Batman slurred.

"A friend's," Clark said. "We need to stop the bleeding." He rapped again. "HANNA!"

"Quiet," Batman said.

Clark rolled his eyes. The man was bleeding to death in his arms and still giving orders. "No one is going to hear me," he said. "No one except Hanna and a few stray cats."

Batman lifted his head, giving Clark a stern look. "Still -- "

"Are you this annoying all the time?" Clark asked.

"Hmpf," Batman said before he, mercifully, passed out.

Clark tried to knock again, but sighed in relief at the sight of Hanna looking out at him. She narrowed her dark eyes until he turned, letting her see his face. "Open up!" he said. "My friend -- "

He waved one bloodstained hand and she yanked the door open. "Inside," she snapped. He ducked in and she closed the door, locking it behind him. "Do I want to ask what happened?"

"Probably not," Clark said. He followed her into the clinic. "It's not what you think and it's too complicated to explain."

"With you it usually is," Hanna said as she scrubbed her hands. "Put him on the -- " she turned. "Right." She smiled. "I forgot how many times you've done this."

She grabbed a pair of latex gloves and walked over. "God, he's a mess," she said.

"He didn't stand a chance," Clark said, watching anxiously. "He just turned around and this kid -- "

"I get the picture," she said. "Grab the light? I'm going to need more to work." She shook her head. "This was vicious." Hanna flicked a look at him as he stepped closer, holding the light in close. "How good a friend?"

"He's not what he seems," Clark said. "He's -- undercover."

"Ah," Hanna nodded. She was used to that. The clinic being where it was, she and the staff treated their fair share of criminals and cops alike.

Unable to watch her work further, Clark looked away. The dimly lighting of the room didn't hinder his vision. He let his gaze roam over the twenty-year-old furniture and carpet, purchased in the last round of renovations. "Still waiting on that grant?"

"Mmhmm," Hanna said. "You know how it goes." She reached past him for gauze. "Can I expect a scathing article to hit the Planet's pages any day now?"

Clark chuckled. "If you want," he nodded. "I'll get a quote from Superman to go with. If that doesn't shame people into donating -- "

"Nothing will," Hanna agreed. "You hanging in there, Kent?" Amusement tempered her words. "If you're going to faint, tell me."

"I won't faint," he insisted. "It's just -- "

"Different when it's a friend," she finished. "Right. Well, he's going to live, but you need to get him to a better facility. This is MacGyver medicine, Clark, I'm making due with what I have. It's not going to be enough, he's going to need more than I can do for him here."

"Just keep him alive," Clark said. "As soon as he can be moved, I'll take him somewhere safe. We can't risk blowing his cover by taking him to a normal hospital."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that big meeting I keep hearing about?" Hanna asked.

Clark looked at her. "Meeting?"

She smiled tightly. "Yes, meeting." She reached past him again, the white latex glove slick with red blood. Her hand retreated a second later with more supplies. "I hear we're about to get a new gang in town. Not a moment too soon."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's been chaotic lately," Hanna said. She shrugged. "Lots of turf wars and petty squabbles. Superman can't be expected to bust them all up and the cops don't exactly come down here en masse...I'm no fan of organized crime, but there's something to be said for order."

Clark looked at Batman's face. Beneath the disguise, his skin was pale and clammy. "Guess he was right," he murmured.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Clark said. "Just keep working."

-

Smudged glasses and relieved blue eyes greeted Bruce when he woke up. "Don't try to move," Clark Kent said, a gently firm hand pressing his shoulder down. "You'll pull the stitches and believe me, you don't want to risk that."

Bruce forced himself to settle. He didn't feel much pain, but he felt the pull of the stitches and knew Clark wasn't kidding. He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to swear. He'd known this was a risk. Going out without the suit was a huge risk, but there'd been no way around it. With the searches Matches went through in a day, it would've been discovered five minutes in.

He took a deep breath, feeling the stitches again. He looked at the ceiling and let his memories of the previous evening run through his head. When he got to the part where Superman had found him, he realized.

"Shit," he breathed.

"What?" Clark leaned in. "What's wrong?"

Bruce looked at him, ignoring the itch of his fake beard as he really looked. It had escaped him last night, he'd accepted it without question, but now...Now he could see past the glasses and messy hair.

And saw Superman staring out at him.

"You," he rasped. His hand moved limply, tracing a pattern through the air. "You're -- " He frowned. "Are you insane? The risk of -- " he bit off the comment. Somehow, he couldn't regret the fact Superman had inadvertently revealed himself. He couldn't. He tucked the secret away and waited for Clark to speak.

Clark grinned. "Yeah, I'm -- " he mimicked the action. "And I know what kind of risk I took. I wasn't thinking about that at the time." He sat back, shrugging. "It didn't occur to me until it was too late and we were in the air."

"You're a lousy liar," Bruce said. "You knew exactly what kind of risk you were taking."

Clark sighed. "It was worth it. Besides, I'm not that bad a liar. I pull off the secret identity thing pretty well, don't I?"

"Except when you don't," Bruce said. "Last night, you didn't. Just be thankful you can trust me with it." He lifted his head, trying to see the bandages on his stomach. "How bad?"

"Bad enough," Clark said. "You won't be out on the town for a while. Before you ask, you're in Hobbs' Bay. I brought you to a free clinic. The doctor thinks you're an undercover cop."

"How much does he know?" Bruce asked, paying more attention to his surroundings. A small room, barely big enough for the bed, chair, and IV, with faded wallboard and a water-stained ceiling. It certainly wasn't Metropolis General.

"Other than that? She doesn't know much," Clark said. "She worked out you were at the Intergang meeting, but she won't tell anyone. Working down here, Hanna's learned not to ask a lot of questions. It's better for business if she doesn't."

Bruce nodded. The movement was slow, his head not permitting anything faster. "Water?"

"Yeah," Clark disappeared, returning almost as quickly with a glass in hand. "Here." He held out two pills. "For pain." He sat down on the edge of the bed, helping Bruce. "Do you need to call anyone?"

The question, full of 'innocent' concern, made Bruce smile. "Cute," he said. "I've got a cell." He'd missed his check-in. Alfred had to be approaching frantic by now. Or at least what passed for frantic with him.

Clark nodded. "It's with your stuff."

"Clark?" Bruce passed the glass back and licked his lips. It took a moment before he gruffly said, "Thank you. I would've died out there."

"Well, I couldn't let that happen," Clark said with a game smile. "If I'm gonna find out the man behind the mask, I don't want it to be that way." He leaned in. "Besides, if I let Batman die in my city, Gotham would never forgive me and it's a tough enough city to visit as is."

Bruce snorted. "It doesn't need your help," he said. "It has me."

"Not right now, it doesn't," Clark said. "You can't go out like this. Flint messed up a few things while he was in there. I wasn't kidding when I said it was bad enough. You're going to have trouble walking, forget your usual evening routine. You're on sick leave for the foreseeable future. I'll double up my patrols and cover -- "

"No," Bruce started to argue, he moved to sit up but a sudden, sharp pain stopped him. "Damn."

"Right," Clark said. "Forget it. We'll work something out later. Right now, we need to get you to a better medical facility."

Bruce shook his head, feeling perspiration dotting his forehead. "My hotel. After that, there's someone you need to get."

-

It was as Superman that Clark went back to the clinic, which Batman greeted with an approving nod. "You're in uniform, good."

"Any reason that I wouldn't be?" Clark asked. He put down the rescue stretcher he was holding and crossed the room to Batman's bedside. Hopefully, without being too obvious, he gave Batman a quick once-over. Hanna had been true to her word and then some. Batman wasn't out of the woods, but he was definitely on the path leading that way.

Batman smirked, a wry twinkle of amusement in his sharp gaze. His colour was better. The transfusion had done it's job. "Well, there was always the chance that you'd gotten distracted again. I've noticed the thought of touching me tends to evoke that reaction."

Clark didn't blush. As much as he wanted to, he didn't. Instead, he returned Batman's smirk. "Guess we know your ego's fine," he said. "Not that I doubted it, of course."

"Ah, I see Patient X's ride has arrived," Hanna said, walking into the room. She gave Clark's uniform a dubious look then frowned at Batman. "I'm not sure this is a good idea," she said. "You're risking further injury."

"I won't be carrying him in my arms," Clark assured. "I brought something with me for that." He gestured to the basket. "I borrowed it from the Coast Guard. We'll strap him in and he'll be completely immobile for the entire trip."

Examining the stretcher for herself, Hanna nodded with approval. "Since you refuse to go via ambulance -- "

"Ambulances can be tracked or followed," Batman interrupted. "It's too risky."

"Mmm, and the man in the bright red cape isn't?" Hanna shook her head. "Never mind. You're not going to listen to me, so I'm not wasting my breath." She looked at Superman. "So -- "

He nodded. "Right."

Working together, they eased Batman off the bed and into the stretcher. Hanna then strapped him in and checked his vitals. She gave him one more disapproving frown, to which he responded with a grin, and stepped back.

"All right, I'm washing my hands of you," she said, her brisk manner belied by the worry in her eyes. "Don't let the door hit you in the cape on the way out. Wouldn't want to rip it, now would we?"

Clark laughed. "It can handle it." He lifted Batman and the stretcher. "Thank you, Doctor."

Hanna nodded at him with something suspiciously like a smile on her face. "You're welcome, Superman. Tell Mr. Kent I'm looking forward to that article."

"I will," he said.

Outside, Batman looked up at him. "She knows, doesn't she?"

Clark shrugged. "I've never told her, but Hanna's not stupid, so my bet is yes." He took to the air. "If she does know, she hasn't told anyone."

"She isn't stupid," Batman said, grudging respect in her voice. "Superman's loyalty isn't something you squander."

"Careful," Clark teased over the wind. "You keep talking like that and I might think you like me." He thought he heard the Dark Knight chuckle.

"If I don't," Batman said, "I'm about to take one hell of a stupid risk. We're going to the Hotel Metropolitan, I'm booked into one of the private suites."

For a moment, Clark wasn't sure that he'd heard the man correctly. He knew that Mannheim and his people were booked into The Executive Suite, the hotel favored by businessmen traveling into Metropolis. Detective Sawyer and her team had been conducting surveillance on them from the moment that they'd checked in. None of them had any reason to go near the Metropolitan, which catered almost exclusively to the very wealthy. He'd always suspected Batman had extensive resources, but this suggested something far beyond his initial deductions.

"Superman?"

"I heard you," he said, looking down at him. "What am I looking for?"

Batman's smile was rueful. "A very irritated Englishman."

-

The Hotel Metropolitan dominated the skyline of downtown Metropolis, the lush green of its private rooftop gardens drawing Superman's eye. In the heart of one, his gaze spotted an older man pacing back and forth.

He grinned to himself. "I think I just found your irritated Englishman," he said, looking down at Batman. "He looks frantic."

Closing his eyes, Batman groaned. "I am so dead," he said.

"Well, maybe he'll take pity on your weakened condition," Clark offered as he listened for the mystery man's voice.

"...going to send me to an early grave, that one." the man was saying. "Always rushing off on some damn foolish crusade or another and now he's going to try and save the whole bloody world. Of all things..."

He grinned. "Or not."

"I don't want to know what you just heard, do I?" Batman asked as they began to slow down.

"I doubt it," Clark said. "Which is why I'm not going to tell you." He heard another muffled exclamation from the rooftop as they came into view. "At least you get points for a dramatic homecoming. It's not like I do this every day."

"Not unless your surname happens to be Lane," Batman smirked.

Clark made a face. "Well, she has a dangerous job."

"So do I," Batman said. "And this is a first."

"Third," Clark said. "Third in twenty-four hours. Even Lois doesn't have a record like that one."

"The first time doesn't count," Batman said. "You grabbed me. I wasn't in danger."

Clark considered it and nodded. "Okay, I'll give you that one, but still; it's a record." He shifted position, reaching down to take hold of the stretcher itself to steady it as they landed. "I think you were looking for this?" he asked of the shocked man.

"Alfred," Batman said. "Did I miss anything?"

"You shaving a few years off my life," 'Alfred' said, "but that's a regular occurrence lately, so I'll have to say nothing of importance." He looked warily at Clark and the emblem on Clark's chest. "You've brought home a friend."

Clark watched Batman trade meaningful looks with Alfred, discussing something in those looks they didn't wish to voice. He had a feeling he knew exactly what the topic of conversation was and decided to cut it off at the pass. "Before I introduce myself," he said, "perhaps we should move this discussion inside?"

Batman, still trussed into the stretcher, looked up at him. "Are you sure --"

"Do you trust him?" Clark asked.

"Absolutely," Batman said.

Clark nodded. "Then yes, I'm sure." He hefted the stretcher. "Besides, that stretcher can't be comfortable."

"Oh come on," Batman grinned. "It was like riding on air."

"Are his jokes usually that bad?" Clark asked of Alfred.

"Unfortunately," Alfred nodded. "It's one of the many things I've never been able to cure him of. Not for lack of trying, mind you, he's just an exceptionally stubborn man."

"Hadn't noticed," Clark deadpanned.

-

The transfer from stretcher to bed was tricker than it had been at the clinic. The suite's four poster bed was not designed to ease a transfer from stretcher. While Clark remained unaffected, both Alfred and Batman were both breathing heavy by the time they settled Batman into place.

"Okay," Clark said when they were done, "I need to check -- "

"Definitely," Batman nodded. "Alfred?"

"I've been conducting irregular scans for listening devices," Alfred said, putting a case on the bed at Batman's side. When they opened it, Clark found himself staring at an alarming amount of equipment. Some of it he recognized, some of it he didn't, and still more of it looked experimental.

"Guess you get all the best toys," he said, fingering a pair of night-vision goggles.

Batman's lips flirted with smiling. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

The not-particularly-subtle insinuation made Clark's cheeks redden and he turned away. "Not really," he said, clearing his throat. "I usually prefer to go low-tech."

"Which has its uses," Batman agreed. "Do you see anything?"

Clark scanned the room and then the surrounding buildings, looking for parabolic microphones and anything that might have been surveillance equipment. He finally shook his head. "No, nothing."

He turned around to see Batman pecking at the keys of a laptop. After a moment, the Dark Knight put it down beside him. "Setting up a little interference," he said. "There's a chance you could have missed something."

It wasn't likely, but Clark wasn't arguing. "Okay, all that for a simple handshake, but -- " he reached out, offering a hand to Alfred. "Clark Kent, nice to meet you, sir."

"Honored," Alfred agreed. He smiled. "I've found your exploits, in and out of uniform, to be quite fascinating."

"That's one word for them," Clark agreed, grinning. "Mostly, I tend to think a little more along the lines of insane and over the top, but I've gotten used to it." He looked at Batman. "Okay, so you said I needed to go somewhere to get someone. Where and who?"

Batman pulled off his beard, wincing as the glue pulled away. "You're going to Gotham to get Doctor Leslie Thompkins." He wiped at his face and grinned at Clark. "Tell her Bruce Wayne needs her help."

Clark blinked. "Well, I didn't see that one coming." Not that it didn't make sense with everything he did know of Batman's - and Bruce's - histories. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," Batman said. Clark watched his eyes narrow. "You really didn't know?"

"No," Clark said, "but it fits my suspicions." He grinned. "I didn't peek, if that's what you're wondering. I hate that. It ruins the suspense and I like a little mystery in my life."

Bruce snorted. "Now I know you're lying." He winced, lightly touching the bandages on his abdomen. "Ow."

"That's my cue," Clark said, backing toward the door. "What do I do if she doesn't want to come?"

"She will," Alfred said. "She'll come if only for the rather interesting method of travel." He smiled. "She won't be able to resist."

"If not," Bruce grinned, "just grab her and fly for it. She can yell at me later."

With a shake of his head, Clark opened the balcony doors and took to the air.


	3. The Clothes Don't Make The Man

Exhausted, Dr. Leslie Thompkins opened the door to her office and slipped inside. Closing it behind her she leaned up against it and listened to the bustle outside. Gotham's Mercy General sat at the very heart of the downtown core. The closer to midnight it got, the crazier it got. At a quarter-past two, it was bedlam on the other side of the door. She leaned against it for a moment and looked at her own reflection in her window. "Getting up there, old girl," she told herself with a rueful smile. Exhaustion was beginning to creep around the edges of her last cup of coffee. "Can't keep this pace up forever."

Her smile saddened. It wasn't as if she had much choice in the matter. There weren't many of them left to carry on.

She pushed away from the door and went to her desk. Getting there required navigating far too much clutter with unread medical journals and files covering almost every available surface. As she sat down, Leslie rubbed the back of her neck and surveyed the disaster area she called an office. "Next year, I'll get a handle on this," she said, then grinned. "I say that every year."

The sound of knuckles rapping politely at her window made her jump. Muffling a yelp of surprise, Leslie turned to find Superman floating outside. "Good lord," she breathed, staring at him.

Superman lifted one hand, waving a little. "Hello."

She got up, opening the window, "Aren't you a little far from home?"

He smiled. "Well, that would be relative, wouldn't it?"

Leslie closed her eyes for a moment. "Damn," she said. Her first meeting with Superman, the man who'd literally changed the world, and she promptly put her foot in her mouth. "I apologize," she said. "That was thoughtless."

Superman's smile widened. "It's all right, really. No need to apologize."

"Well, I'd disagree, but thank you," she said. "My gaffe aside, what brings you to Gotham and my window in particular?"

"I was sent by someone who needs your help," Superman said. He looked hesitant. It was that hesitance that tipped Leslie off as to who was doing the sending.

She frowned, folding her arms. "Gone and gotten himself hurt, has he?" Turning away, Leslie looked at the picture sitting on her desk. Thomas and Martha, laughing with her younger self. She felt the pain of their loss again, "Seriously hurt," she added. "Or you wouldn't be here."

"Yes, ma'am," Superman said quietly. "He was stabbed multiple times in the abdomen. A friend of mine patched him up at a free clinic, but he refuses to go to a hospital."

Leslie lifted her chin, a reluctant chuckle escaping her. "He's as stubborn as his mother." She turned. "Everyone thought Thomas to be the bullheaded one, but he had nothing on Martha. I wish I knew what they would think of this." She laughed. "I wish I knew what to think of this."

"He needs your help, Doctor," Superman said. He looked solemnly at her. "Please."

"As if I could say no," Leslie shook her head. "I swore I'd help Alfred look after him – " and she'd promised Thomas and Martha's graves she'd do the same. Whatever his choices, she wasn't going to betray those oaths now. "I'll get my bag."

Superman sighed in relief. "Thank you." He waited outside as she gathered up the supplies she'd need, stuffing them into a medical bag. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Are you afraid of heights?"

Leslie stopped and looked at him, amusement dancing in her gaze. "If I was, Superman, would it matter? I've a patient waiting and you're the fastest route to getting to him." She smiled. "Unless, of course, you've a terrible case of butter fingers. If you do, then I may have to reconsider."

He grinned, sheepish. "No, no butter fingers. I just -- " he shrugged. "Nerves, I guess. Dealing with Batman has me on edge."

"Hmm, he tends to evoke that reaction in everyone," Leslie agreed. "He likes it that way." Even in the dim light from her office, she could see the colour dotting Superman's cheeks. She smiled. "Of course, depending on how he feels about certain people, he tends to try harder."

Superman cleared his throat, holding out a hand for her as she advanced. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Leslie nodded. "Gets it from his father, I believe. Thomas could be an exceptionally difficult man, but never more so than when dealing with Martha." She let Superman lift her out of the window and concentrated very hard on not looking down. "If he's injured badly, I will need more equipment than this," she said.

"Just tell me what you need," Superman said. "I'll find it."

Leslie finally risked looking down. "Do you ever get used to this?" she asked.

He chuckled. "No, not really."

-

"Well, you've gone and done it this time, haven't you?"

Bruce opened his eyes and looked into Leslie Thompkins' disapproving glower. She seemed untouched by time; her face exactly the way he remembered her, right down to the glower. She leaned closer and surveyed him, the concern in her eyes betraying her true feelings. He grinned sleepily and offered, "It's not as bad as it looks?"

She gave an indelicate snort and put down her bag. After a moment's examination, she folded her arms and frowned. "I think that it is precisely as bad as it looks. Although, you should be thanking Superman. That doctor friend of his saved your life."

Comfortable, beneath her stern gaze, Bruce nodded. "I know," he said. "So, exactly how bad is it?"

"You'll live," Leslie sat down. "It is, however, bad enough that you can forget what you're thinking. You are in no condition to put on that ridiculous costume and go gallivanting about Gotham."

Bruce sighed, pushing himself up right. He ignored the stab of pain that was his body's protest and focused on Leslie's disapproving look. "I don't exactly have a choice, Leslie. I started something and things are starting to change. If the Batman were to disappear now, it could unravel everything I've accomplished. There's no way that I can let that happen."

"You speak as though you actually have an option," Leslie said, with tilt of her head. "You aren't listening to me, Bruce, it isn't a matter of mind over matter. Your body is physically incapable of doing what you want it to. Until these wounds heals, you are simply too weak and there is no arguing with that, Bruce. You aren't going anywhere right now, and neither is the Batman."

"Leslie," Bruce began.

She cut him off with a look. "You'll be recuperating for several weeks at least." Opening her bag, she withdrew a hypodermic and a vial. "You'll be going on the required antibiotics and an IV drip immediately. The last thing we want is an infection complicating matters."

"I still have to do something about my cover," Bruce said mutinously. "I can't just disappear, Leslie, it will ruin -- "

"You will be very lucky if you are able to walk to the bathroom," Leslie said, swabbing his arm. "Putting on that suit and wreaking your usual amount of mayhem? Absolutely impossible."

He winced when she injected him. "Absolutely?"

"Absolutely," she said with a firm nod. "All you are going to do is lie here and rest. You may enjoy some reading, possibly some television watching, but there will be no vigilante justice and that, young man, is final."

She disposed of the syringe and then grinned at him. "Don't pout at me, Bruce. It's unseemly."

"I am not pouting," he said. He was totally lying, of course, but he had to make the protest. Batman did not pout, after all; not even when the mask was off. "I wasn't!"

"Mmhmm," she nodded. "I remember you being a better liar." Sitting down again, Leslie applied a brightly-coloured Band-Aid to the injection site. She looked at him and grinned. "Considering how much practice you get, I'm surprised."

He winced again. The disapproval hurt worse than the stab wounds. "You've --"

"You make quite a convincing fop," Leslie said. Her gaze looked pained. "But the fire, Bruce." She sighed and shook her head. "Why did you let them blame you?"

"It was easier than the truth," Bruce said, feeling the memory of the heat against his face. "It was the people who attacked the Narrows." He looked away from Leslie. "I met their leader while I was traveling. We have -- issues. If anyone found out the truth, they'd ask too many questions. I like to think that my parents would understand. I'm hoping that you'll understand."

Leslie leaned forward, covering his hand with hers. "I can understand that," she said. "I can't say that I understand him, but I can understand that."

"Batman is necessary, Leslie," Bruce said. "I know you don't approve of his methods, but I believe they're necessary." He squeezed her hand and smiled. "I wish I could do it your way. I did pay attention when I was growing up, even if I didn't act like it."

"You never seemed to," Leslie said with a soft laugh. "Sometimes, I honestly despaired."

"You and Alfred did the best you could," Bruce said. "Considering how hard I made it at times, you did better than the best." He relaxed back against the pillow, still holding her hand. "After they died, you two were the best parts of my life. I know I pushed you both away more than I should have, but -- "

"You were a traumatized child, Bruce," Leslie said. "What you went through, no one could ever blame you for your reaction. Alfred and I certainly never did. You put too much blame on yourself, Bruce, you always did. Too much of your father in you," she smiled. "No matter what Martha or I said, Thomas insisted on bearing the world's problems on his shoulders. I can't tell you how many thousands he spent, or hours he worked, trying to save the misfortunate of Gotham."

"Like father, like son," Bruce quoted with some satisfaction. No one had ever put it like that before and hearing it warmed something deep in his soul. Something he'd long since forgotten and he smiled.

"Well, not exactly," Leslie winked, "Thomas never had the bright idea to try adding a cape."

Bruce laughed out loud, grabbing his side. "Damn," he breathed.

"Right," Leslie said blithely, "You might not want to do that."

-

Waiting on Leslie to finish her examination, Alfred busied himself with a little cleaning up. Certainly he wasn't in the manor, but it wasn't as if they could permit the usual cleaning staff to poke about. They certainly weren't allowed anywhere near Batman's equipment. It would be quite embarrassing were they to accidentally blow the roof of the hotel.

He lifted his head and smiled. "Young man, would you mind moving that crate by the door?"

When he turned, Superman was looking at him with a sheepish expression. "I didn't think you heard me come in," he said, picking up the crate and brought it across the room. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

"Nonsense," Alfred said, moving to let Superman put the crate down. "No such thing as disturbing me." He opened the crate and started an inventory of the flash-bang grenades. "Besides, I think we could both use the company." He smiled cheerfully at Superman, gesturing about them. "I could also use the help, as you can well see."

Superman nodded, following the gesture with his gaze. "He really needed all this?"

"He believes in being prepared," Alfred said. "Though, yes, he might have over-prepared in this case." He cast a worried look at the bedroom door.

"Or not enough," Superman said.

Alfred nodded. "Or not enough." He looked at the crates then at Superman. "He'd never ask for your help, you know, he's too proud." He swallowed and ignored the shaking of his voice as he said, "I, however, am not. No matter how hard he argues, and argue he will, I want you to be there. I've buried two members of my family, I've no intentions of burying another, and with that bloody crusade of his --"

He bit off his words, the memory of Bruce - mindless with fear - surging back into his mind. "Please."

Superman shifted from one foot to the other. On any other night, it would have been funny to see him so uncertain. As it was, Alfred could barely find it within himself to draw a breath as he waited for the answer. "He'll have our heads if he finds out about this," he said.

Alfred chuckled. "Let him try, young man. It won't be the first, or last, time that I take him to task on a matter. He'll consider himself lucky if all I do is send him to bed without his supper."

"Well, in that case," Superman nodded, "I'll do what I can."

Relief like he'd never known settled into Alfred's soul and he smiled. "He'll make it quite a challenge for you."

"Good," Superman said. "I like a challenge; I think they keep me honest. They remind me that I can't do everything." He smiled. It wasn't the smile Superman gave the news cameras.

It was, Alfred suspected, Clark Kent's smile. The one no one, even his supposed friends, ever saw. "A reminder we all need," he said. "It keeps us interested."

He turned away and didn't chuckle; didn't do anything to betray his amusement. The very last thing Alfred wanted to do, was let on just how much he was enjoying this. "The other crate by the door? Can you bring me that one as well?"

After all, that would ruin his fun.

-

His promise made, Clark helped Alfred until Leslie opened the door. "He's all yours," she said. "Do with him what you will."

"He's okay?"

"Well, all things considered, yes," Leslie nodded. "You'll need to keep him hydrated, of course, and I've written scripts for antibiotics to ward off infection, but the main issue right now is rest. Bruce needs to restrict movement as much as possible." She gave Alfred a knowing look and Alfred passed it onto Clark.

"You did say you wanted a challenge," he said.

Clark blinked. "Me?"

"We'll be here to help you," Leslie assured. "I do need to contact the hospital, however, before they call the police."

"For all the good that would do," Alfred said.

Leslie sighed. "Alfred."

He smiled. "Prescriptions, you say? I'd best pop out for those." He held out his hand.

"Pity for you the hospital's pharmacy delivers," Leslie said. "They'll have it ready for me shortly." Her sharp gaze softened as she turned it on Clark. "Alfred is right, Superman. You are the best chance to keep Bruce in that bed. You're a puzzle and a fascinating one; he can't resist the challenge you present."

Clark looked past her and through the wall at Bruce. "That won't be enough," he said. "He's got a mission at stake and nothing will distract him from that." He set his jaw. "I'm just going to have to find a way to do it for him."

"Godspeed," Alfred said as he headed for the bedroom door.

-

When Clark walked into the suite's bedroom, Bruce hadn't moved. He was still glaring mutinously at the screen of his laptop.

"Not now," he said without looking up. "I'm busy."

"Doing what?" Clark asked, closing the door behind him. Bruce didn't answer him as he kept right on typing and glaring. "What are you busy with?"

Still no answer and he sighed, "Bruce? Answer me, or the laptop gets it." He crossed the room, leaning over the computer to look at him. "Seriously," he said, "I will."

Huffing a breath, Bruce sat back. "All right, what is it?"

"Other than the fact you probably aren't supposed to be typing right now?" Clark sat down. "We have some problems to figure out." He looked at Bruce. "The biggest one is Mannheim. By now, he must be wondering where Matches is, and he's probably turning Metropolis and Gotham over looking for him. Matches knows too much."

"I know," Bruce said. "The meeting went ahead?"

"Yes," Superman nodded. "According to my contacts, the meeting went ahead. By the time they came out to find Matches gone, Intergang had been finalized."

Bruce nodded. "Good, that much went right." He scratched at the IV. "Obviously Flint suspected something. Hopefully, he didn't see us meeting."

"Hopefully, but we have to proceed on the assumption he did," Clark said. "In which case, consider this my official apology." He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together and wishing he'd brought street clothes. With Bruce in a bathrobe, his bare chest open to the room, Clark felt ridiculous. "There must be a way we can use this."

"If Flint did see Matches with you, then there are ways," Bruce said. "After all, if Intergang is going to be operating in Metropolis, you are going to be a concern."

Clark frowned, seeing where he was going with it. "Oh, no. Absolutely not, Bruce. I am not going to pretend --"

"It's the best choice," Bruce insisted, cutting him off. "I know that it goes against your better nature, but do we really have a choice?"

"Superman can't be bought!" Clark said, angry. "I can't let anyone think otherwise."

"You don't have to," Bruce held up a placating hand. "Listen to me for a second, Clark, please." He smiled. "Yes, it would be the perfect coup if Matches could buy Superman's loyalty, but it would be too perfect. Bruno wouldn't believe it for a second and he'd probably shoot me."

"Okay," Clark exhaled, feeling the anger settle slowly. "If that's not the plan, then what is?" He looked at Bruce and Bruce looked back. "Oh," he said. "I came back, all ready to bust up the meeting, and found you."

Bruce grinned. "Right. Being Superman, you couldn't leave me to die. Even if I was a mobster."

"I rushed you to a hospital, where the police arrested you," Clark added. "And you're currently recuperating under a very tight guard. Good," he said, satisfied. "I'll speak to the Commissioner, we'll set it up."

"And if the police grapevine is even a fraction of what it is in Gotham," Bruce said with a grim smile, "it'll be all over town by lunch."

"Well, Metropolis isn't Gotham City," Clark said. "You might want to revise that to dinner." He pushed at his cape, annoyed by the way it slid back down. "Dammit," he muttered.

Bruce chuckled, and then groaned. "Don't make me laugh, Kent," he said. "It hurts too damn much."

"I should've brought civilian clothes," Clark sighed. "I know I look ridiculous in this thing when I'm not -- " he gestured at the window.

"Not that," Bruce said, shaking his head.

Clark frowned, confused. "Well, if not that, then what?"

With a grin, Bruce shrugged. "Superman swearing. You'd scandalize every boy scout in North America if they heard that."

Sitting back, Clark folded his arms. He wanted to be annoyed with the man. God knew, Bruce had it coming, but he found himself fighting a grin of his own. "Contrary to popular belief, I was never a boy scout. I never even got my first merit badge."

"No?" Bruce feigned a pout. "Well, there goes one of my favorite fantasies."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

The insinuation in his voice earned him a pillow tossed at his head. "Not that kind of fantasy, you idiot," Bruce said, annoyed. "I meant -- " he frowned. "You know what I meant. Superman actually knows how to say dammit? What's next?" He waggled his eyebrows at Clark. "Are you going to get really wild and say fuck?"

"Well, that would depend," Clark said, blushing.

"On?"

"External stimuli," he choked out, pleased with himself for the look of shock that flashed through Bruce's eyes. "If the appropriate external triggers aren't applied, then I'd have no reason to use it."

Coughing, Bruce nodded. "Okay, and exactly what would those triggers be?"

The door opened and Clark nearly leapt to his feet in relief. The speculative look Bruce was giving him was damned unnerving. He cleared his throat and looked at the smirking Alfred. "Is something wrong?" he asked, praying it was.

Ma would so smack him for that.

Alfred held out the pile of clothes he was carrying. "I had to guess at sizing, but I thought you'd be getting uncomfortable in that suit."

"You have no idea," Clark said, across the room in an instant.

Alfred's look was telling. "You would be surprised, sir," he said.

"He's planning something," Bruce said as the door closed. "I'm not going to like it."

In Clark's opinion, Alfred was a saint. Not only a saint, but a saint gifted with an extraordinary sense of timing. "What makes you say that?" he asked, hurrying into the change of clothes. They fit, for the most part, and he relaxed, looking at Bruce.

"I know him," Bruce said. He shot a suspicious look at the door. "Alfred is planning something and we are in so much trouble."


	4. The Clothes Don't Make The Man

It was near dawn when Bruce woke up. The IV itched and he absently scratched it as he looked around. Lit a pale blue by the faint, pre-dawn light, the unfamiliar bedroom was a study in shadow and Bruce had little interest in it. He was alone.

Struggling upright, he ignored the pull of stitches. "Alfred?" The borrowed clothing that Clark had been wearing sat at the foot of the bed, neatly folded, and the chair he'd been using had been replaced at the desk.

Light from the other room spilled in as Alfred opened the door. "He left shortly after you fell asleep."

Bruce looked over his shoulder. "Why?"

"Patrol, he said," Alfred set a tray down, passing him pills and a bottle of water. "As good as his hearing is, it is difficult to hear someone yell your name when you're keeping vigil." He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Bruce.

Bruce watched his gaze flick to the pills and grinned. He tossed them back, swallowing them with a mouthful of water, and then opened his mouth. "Ahhh..." he said, sticking out his tongue.

"Oh, stop that," Alfred huffed, grabbing the bottle from him. "You are not six years old." He twisted the cap onto the bottle. "Though, by the way you're behaving, a man could wonder."

Grinning, Bruce gestured at the tray. "Do I have to eat the crust on my toast?"

Alfred shook his head. "For that, _yes_." He put the tray across Bruce's legs and got up. "I'll expect a request for seconds as well." He walked across the room, pushing back the curtains to let in the strengthening daylight. "He'll be back soon, I'll wager. Metropolis is a shockingly quiet city."

"With a demigod flying over it, can't imagine why," Bruce said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Alfred scolded. He whisked Bruce's laptop off the bed, depositing it on the other side of the room. "I'd hardly call him a demigod. He seems to be a quite agreeable young man."

"I heard that," Bruce said, dumping sugar into his coffee.

"Pardon?"

"I said, I heard that," Bruce repeated. "You're a terrible actor, Alfred. Come on, out with it, we both know you're dying to tell me."

"Hardly," Alfred said. His indignant sniff lacked its usual indignant edge and he sat down. "The man saved your life. I think I can be forgiven for a greater than average estimation of his personality."

"_Alfred_," Bruce said. "Spill." His stomach growled and he dug into his eggs with vigor. Through another mouthful, he added, "This isn't about personality."

"Oh, but it is," Alfred tilted his head. "You're infatuated with the man."

Bruce choked, which made his stomach clench in protest and his eyes burn. He sputtered and coughed, and grabbed at his stitches as he blinked wildly. "WHAT?" he finally said, his voice hoarse.

Nonplussed, Alfred handed him a napkin. "Mind you don't pull your stitches. If I have to wake Leslie up to fix them now, she will kill us both."

Bruce took a few steadying breaths. "Hey, I'm not the one lobbing verbal grenades at the injured." He wiped his mouth. "What the hell was that?" He reached for his orange juice and took a generous swallow. "I am not _infatuated_ with Superman." He coughed around the words. "I'm not, Alfred."

"Oh, sure you aren't, just like he's not infatuated with you," Alfred said. He folded his arms and grinned. Bruce knew that grin and knew just how much Alfred was enjoying this.

Not that it stopped him from being excited. "You think that he's -- "

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I beg pardon, but apparently you missed the part where he waited for you to fall asleep before he left. That is not the mark of a casual friend and you bloody well know it."

"I've known him for like five minutes, Alfred," Bruce said.

"Hmm, and after two of those, you were swapping secret identities," Alfred said. "At that rate, Batman and Superman will be exchanging vows in a civil ceremony by the end of the week." He shrugged. "Not that I disagree with that, mind you."

"You should," Bruce said. "You're the one who's supposed to be discouraging my crazy ideas."

"Aha, so you've thought about it!" Alfred said, pouncing.

"That's not what I said," Bruce protested. "I'm just saying -- " he sighed. "I hate it when you do that."

"Then I'm doing my job," Alfred smiled. "Personally, whatever kind of relationship you choose to cultivate with the man, I am going to be quite approving. It's reassuring to think that Batman will have company whilst terrorizing the riffraff of Gotham City."

"I don't terrorize people, Alfred," Bruce said.

"Of course you don't, sir," Alfred said. "Can't imagine what came over me that I'd think such a thing." He shook his head. "Really, the thought of Batman terrorizing riffraff."

"Me either," Bruce agreed. "I'm not sure what's going on, Alfred. You've got Batman terrorizing riffraff and got me infatuated with Clark. I'm not, by the way."

Alfred looked at him and stood without comment; the grin on his face doing all the comment. "Eat your breakfast, Master Bruce," he said when he was halfway through the door. "I'll be back when you've finished and I'm sure Leslie will be in to check your wounds."

"I'm _not_!" Bruce insisted.

Waving a dismissive hand, Alfred closed the door behind him, leaving Bruce to his eggs and his confusion. Food having dropped from the list of his priorities, Bruce had no choice but focus on the confusion. He relaxed back against his pillow, taking care to move slowly, and stared at the balcony doors. It was too easy to picture Clark backlit against them, looking back just before flying away.

He shook his head to clear the image. Superman was already an overly-romanticized figure, he didn't need to be helping it along. He wasn't a civilian. The average person on the street seemed only too happy to fixate on Superman fantasies. Helped along, no doubt, by the stories which graced the pages of the Daily Planet each and every day. Since Superman's return and near-death, the Planet had been delivering up story after story that carried them closer and closer across the line. Their professional distance was vanishing at breakneck speed.

"Clark should be paying Lane as his press agent," Bruce muttered, then caught himself. He frowned. "No," he said. "I'm not." Again he shook his head, "I am not _jealous_. I'm not."

He scowled. "Fuck. I am."

This was not good. He really didn't need this complication right now. He had a job to do, a mission to fulfill, and neither one of those involved Clark Kent or Superman.

"Something wrong?"

Bruce looked up at Clark. He stood, backlit by the morning sun, in the open balcony doorway with a befuddled smile on his face. Looking at him, Bruce momentarily forgot how to breathe. He finally sucked in a breath and smiled. "No, not really," he said. "Just an unexpected complication. I seem to be collecting those lately."

"It's a part of the job," Clark said. He shrugged elegantly and closed the balcony doors behind him. "You think you've got everything covered, and then..." he looked at Bruce, colour in his cheeks. "Unexpected complications come storming around the corner."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed quietly. "They pretty much do."

-

Clark changed back into his borrowed clothes. He could have brought his own, he'd even thought about it, but he just didn't. "Next time, I'll bring my own, I promise," he said, emerging from the bathroom. "I just didn't think about it."

With a grin, Bruce looked up from his laptop. "Unexpected complication?"

"Something like that," Clark sat down. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Depends," Bruce said. "How did the set up go?" His gaze watched Clark's closely and his heartbeat sped up. "Did the police agree to play ball?"

"They did," Clark nodded. "The Commissioner put a friend of mine on it." He grinned, recalling Dan's glee at the thought of putting one over on the mob. "Turpin will handle it _perfectly_, Bruce, I promise. He's already planning on roughing up a few of Mannheim's guys and 'accidentally' letting it slip."

He watched the smirk spread across Bruce's face. "And here I thought all the cops in Metropolis were soft," Bruce said, teasing him.

Clark rolled his eyes, laughing. "There are genuine criminals outside of Gotham, Bruce, and even a few police officers." He leaned over, looking at the laptop. "What's this?"

"I've been monitoring the police," Bruce said. "I need to know what's going on in Gotham." He gestured at the screen, frustration replacing his amusement. "Batman's disappearance is starting to be noticed. There's been a spike in violent crime. The police don't think it's related, but that could be wishful thinking."

"Any idea what you're going to do about it?" Clark asked, reading the report on the screen. He wondered how many spikes there had been when _he'd_ left and felt a fresh wave of guilt. What had the world done about it then?

"Well, you're the expert, what would you suggest?" Bruce asked. He closed his eyes and Clark smiled. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry." Bruce rubbed his forehead. "Blame it on the medication."

"It's all right, Bruce," Clark said, meaning every word. "I left. I went halfway across the galaxy in search of a fantasy. I knew when I came back that I'd have to face the consequences of that. I've heard a lot worse than that." He grinned ruefully. "A little old lady from Central City whacked me with her purse."

"Oooh, ouch," Bruce said, grinning. "That had to hurt."

"Well, not as much as the language she used," Clark shook his head. "So, back to your problem. I did have one idea, but you're never going to go for it."

"Why not?"

Clark scratched the back of his neck and removed his glasses. He folded them up and looked at them. "I could do it," he said. It was crazy, but it had occurred to him the previous night. He'd pulled Bruce's shirt over his head, caught by the faint scent of his cologne, and the idea had just hit him.

"You could do what?" Bruce asked. His eyes widened. "Be _Batman_?"

"Yeah," Clark nodded. "It could work, Bruce. All we really need to accomplish is to convince Gotham that Batman is still out there. I put on the suit, I make a few appearances and grab a few thugs, and then I'm out of there. It's simple."

"Simple," Bruce echoed. "It's nuts, Clark. There is no way that it would work."

"Why not?" Clark asked.

"Because..." Bruce frowned. "_You_? Batman?" Clark watched him wave a hand, trying to come up with a way to articulate the emotions on his face. "It just wouldn't work. I'd stand a better chance of playing Superman."

Despite himself, Clark snickered. "I'd have to disagree with that one," he said. "There are obvious challenges to that role reversal."

"Well, there are just as many challenges to this role reversal," Bruce insisted.

"And as soon as you think of them, you'll tell me?" Clark asked, his grin widening. "God, you're territorial, Bruce. You don't want Superman anywhere near Gotham or that suit, even though you know you need my help."

"What if you make a mistake?" Bruce asked, his gaze intent. "What happens if you use your powers? It's second nature to you, Clark, and the last thing I need is every punk in Gotham thinking I'm another you."

"They _already_ think that," Clark said. "From what I've heard, you've been encouraging that kind of talk." Which wasn't exactly true. The rumor mill had been spinning wildly since Batman's emergence. Fueled by terrified criminals, the stories had been building on each other until Batman was a ten-foot tall monster with six inch fangs that sneezed fire when annoyed.

Sneezed. Not breathed. The stories had been very clear on that part.

"I'm not encouraging anything," Bruce said. "But there's a difference between letting them think something and showing them that something's true."

"So, I'll be careful," Clark said. He grinned. "I'm not all flashy superpowers, you know. Studying human methods of combat was a part of my training and, since I came back, I've made a point of brushing up. If I'm ever caught without my powers, I'm going to need to know." There were other reasons that he didn't bring up. Human beings were so fragile. The fear of hurting them was an ever-present companion. "Bruce, we don't have a lot of options, and you know that. There is no way you can get back into that suit right now. You'll kill yourself and where will Gotham be then?"

Bruce's gaze dropped and his hand curled into a fist. "I don't like it," he said.

"I never said I did," Clark said. "To be honest, the idea of getting into that suit and pretending to be _you_ scares the hell out of me. But it does seem the only option we have right now. We'll rig up the suit with a two-way communication system and a camera. You'll be there every step of the way."

"Consider it done," Alfred said.

-

Standing in the doorway, Alfred watched both men turn to look at him. He smiled. "What else did you think I was planning? The honeymoon?" He clasped his hands behind his back, amused by the glance that passed between Clark and Bruce.

"So the borrowed clothes?" Clark plucked at the shirt he was wearing.

"You were checking sizes," Bruce said.

"Quite," Alfred nodded. "All things considered, I couldn't very well ask, now could I? Master Wayne would've been quite predictably bent out of shape at the mere suggestion. It was best to wait until you did so and I'd already prepared the suit."

He watched Bruce take that in and nod. "It's a damn good thing that you're on my side, Alfred," he said. "If not, I'd be so incredibly screwed."

"Quite," Alfred agreed. "The suit is in the living room, if you are ready."

Bruce and Clark looked at each other.

"Are we?" Bruce asked.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Clark said. "Of course, that means we have to get you out of bed."

-

"Absolutely not," Bruce said flatly. "Forget it, Clark, it's not happening."

He imagined that Clark thought the smile on his face was beguiling. "Come on, Bruce, you need to go out there and it's the simplest way."

"If I leave this bedroom, Clark, I am doing it under my own power," Bruce said. "You are _not_ carrying me." He pointed at Leslie, but kept his gaze on Clark, "Not one word, Leslie."

She snorted. "No, it will be more than one. You need to minimize your movement, Bruce. Clark helping you into the main room is the most economical method of doing it."

"I'm a grown man, Leslie."

"Who's acting like a big baby," she replied without hesitation. "Really, Bruce, must you fight us every step of the way?"

He finally looked at her and found the amused grin that he'd expected firmly fixed on her face. "Would you want it any other way?"

"No, but I need to up a token resistance at least," she said, folding her arms. "All right, if you won't let Clark carry you. Will you at least let him help you?"

Clark held up his hands and grinned at Bruce. "No funny business, I promise."

"And what if I _want_ funny business?" Bruce asked, grinning.

"Then your doctor will step in and absolutely forbid it," Leslie said. "No Batman and no funny business." She turned around and left the room. "Now, we have work to do, don't we?"

Annoyed, Bruce watched her go. "That woman takes far too much glee in ruining my fun." He looked over at Alfred. "She's been doing it since I was a kid."

"Yes, well, we old fogies take our glee where we can find it," Alfred said. "I'll leave you two to figure out logistics." He shot a '_he's your problem now_' look at Clark and followed Leslie from the room.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and taking hold of his IV, Bruce looked up at Clark. "Let's get this clear, all right? You are _not_ carrying me out there."

"Nope," Clark bent down, sliding a gentle arm around his waist. "It'll be more like dragging really. On the count of three, we stand you up, okay?"

Bruce nodded and set his jaw. This was going to hurt. Together, they counted it off and on three, he gripped the IV pole tighter and pushed upright. Pain thrummed through him and he cursed, gripping the solid bulk of Clark's shoulder. "Okay, that hurt."

"Imagine it without the pain meds," Clark said. "Did you pull anything?"

"No," Bruce said. "But I am not a big fan of gravity right now." He leaned into Clark more than he'd intended. "Let's go."

"It's not too late to revise your plan. I promise there will be absolutely no damage to your ego if I carried you." Clark said, his eyes dancing with mirth and maybe some worry. Definitely worry.

Bruce looked at him. The man was unnaturally beautiful when he smiled. "It's not my ego I'm worried about," he said. He returned Clark's smile. "Keeping my hands to myself, now that I am worried about." It was the truth. Standing this close to Clark made it damn hard to lie to himself. His body was playing traitor to every self-deception Bruce dreamt up. He leaned into Clark again and found new sympathy for Lois Lane.

"Oh really?" Clark asked. "Do I need to call Alfred in here to protect my virtue?"

"It might be an idea," Bruce said. "Just as soon as the mind-numbing pain abates, I'll be on you like Alfred on a dust mite." They took a step together and Bruce sucked in a breath. Being carried didn't seem like such a bad plan at the moment. "I'm not kidding, you know."

"I know," Clark said. His voice was soft as his breath brushed Bruce's cheek. "I can hear your heartbeat remember?"

"God, that's hot," Bruce said. He laughed. "This is not what I had in mind for meeting Superman."

"Believe it or not, this is exactly what I had in mind for meeting Batman," Clark said.

Bruce looked at him. Clark's grin was nervous, but still playful. "Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh," Clark nodded. "Though, usually there were explosions and burning buildings when I saved you. Skinny mobsters with delusions of grandeur never really occurred to me."

"Not dramatic enough, huh?"

"Nope," Clark said. "I wanted to make an impression."

"You've done that," Bruce said. "The carrying a mountain thing? As impressions go, that's pretty damn unforgettable."

"No," Clark shook his head. "That's Superman. That's..." he shrugged, exasperated. It was a feeling Bruce knew only too well. "Him. I want to make the impression as me. It's hard to explain the differences."

"I get it," Bruce said and meant it. Infatuation, or no infatuation, Alfred had been right about one thing. It would be good to have Clark in his life. He hadn't realized just how lonely being Batman could be. "Neither one of them are real. The public Clark and Superman are extensions of you, but not _you_. It's the thing that you can't make people understand." He thought of his conversation with Rachel. "They think that the costumes are the masks and that you can switch back from one to the other."

"But it's not that easy," Clark said. "And it never will be."

"Not until now, anyway," Bruce looked at him. "If I kiss you, do you promise not to tell Leslie?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Clark said.

"Not a chance," Bruce said. "I've got plans for you." He grinned again, watching the dull red of Clark's blush spreading across his cheeks. "Though, if we're lucky, we may swing a little dying in there. I won't tell Leslie if you won't."

Clark straightened up, shaking his head. "Oh no you don't," he said. "You are not going too -- mmph!" His protest was muffled by Bruce closing the distance between them and kissing him. The move putting him off balance and Bruce let himself fall against Clark, trusting the man to catch him. He did, an arm coming up to hold on carefully.

"_Bruce_!" he protested against Bruce's lips. "Watch it! You're hurt!"

"I'll be careful," Bruce pressed a thigh between Clark's legs. "Promise," he said, kissing Clark again. The feeling of Clark's mouth, hot against his, was addictive. He didn't want to pull away, not even for the scant few seconds that it would take to speak.

Not to mention he wasn't sure that he'd get a second shot at this. His stomach knotted at the thought of never being able to touch Clark like this again. Now that he knew what it felt like to have Clark's mouth against his and his body hot and hard against his, Bruce couldn't imagine giving it up.

Clark moaned; the sound of surrender sliding over Bruce's skin like a plea that drew him closer. Belatedly, Bruce realized Clark's arm around him had tightened as well, physically pulling him in. The touch was still so very gentle, taking care with him, and he grinned into the kiss. "I won't break, you know."

"That's not what I hear," Clark said, breathless. "Please, Bruce, just let me do it this way?"

Bruce answered him by nipping Clark's lip playfully. Clark made a noise in the back of his throat and Bruce hardened in response. "Fuck, do that again," he said.

"What?" Clark asked, his hand sliding over the curve of Bruce's ass. "This?" he squeezed. Bruce groaned, squirming back into the firm grip.

"That works," he said. "God, Clark."

"Close enough, or so you keep saying," Clark teased.

"You've been eavesdropping on me," Bruce said, oddly pleased by the revelation. He kissed Clark again, pressing his tongue into Clark's mouth and tasting him. Hungry for more, he delayed Clark's answer and deepened the kiss.

Flush with the thrill of victory, Bruce wrapped one hand on his IV pole and slid the other down Clark's body. Clark responded eagerly, his hips rocking forward to grind himself against Bruce's thigh.

Bruce grinned and pulled his lips away from Clark's, eager to taste the skin of his throat. He dropped kisses along the heated skin as he slid a hand down the length of Clark's perfect, perfect body. As daring as his suit was, Bruce decide that he didn't think it did Clark justice. The body beneath his questing fingers was enough to make Michelangelo weep in envy.

Aware as he was of the potential for interruption, Bruce took his time with his exploration. He wanted to familiarize himself with every inch of Clark for later exploration. As soon as he was able, he planned on taking Clark into the nearest bed and not coming out for a month.

Returning to Clark's mouth for a kiss, Bruce decided to surprise him by pushing a hand into his pants. Clark grunted at the touch of fingers to his cock. His hips thrust forward and he tangled a hand in Bruce's hair, holding on tight.

The strength in his touch sent Bruce's imagination spinning off into all manner of interesting directions. Each idea more intoxicating and erotic than the last, he forced himself to tuck them away for later. Right now, the clock was ticking.

A throat cleared behind them and sounded the alarm that he'd been expecting. Reluctantly, Bruce pulled away and winked at Clark. "Foiled," he said and then looked back at Alfred. "Sorry," he said, without any contrition whatsoever. "I guess we got a little distracted."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "It would certainly seem that you did."

"Alfred," Leslie called out, "what's going on in there?"

Seeing a lecture incoming, Bruce held up a hand. "It was just a kiss, I promise."

"It was many things, Master Wayne, but 'just a kiss' does not qualify among them." Alfred looked at Clark with a chagrined expression. "Master Kent, _really_, you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him."

"Well, in Clark's defense," Bruce said, "he did have his eye on me."

"Mmhmm," Alfred said, "and he threw in his mouth and hands as part of the bargain. This was not what I had in mind when I left you to help him. Is this how it will be? The moment I turn my back you'll both lose all semblance of self-control?"

"He surprised me!" Clark protested fuzzily. He looked deliciously rumpled and Bruce wanted to rumple him all over again. "I didn't stand a chance."

"It's one of my strong suits," Bruce said, smug. He pressed a hand into Clark's erection and grinned when Clark made a strangled noise.

"That's not the description that _I_ would use," Alfred said. "Now, shall we?"

"I think we're in trouble," Clark whispered into Bruce's ear. His hand was hot against Bruce's back as it dipped downward, beneath the waistband of his pants.

Bruce sucked in a breath, his hand white-knuckled on the pole. "You keep doing that and we will be," he said. He kissed Clark again then leaned against him. "All right, we have work to do."

"Right," Clark said. "Work."

Bruce grinned. "Yeah, work."


	5. The Clothes Don't Make The Man

"Okay," Bruce said. "One last thing." Leslie helped him up and Alfred handed him the cowl. "You don't look half-bad in that suit, Clark." Truthfully, Clark looked better than half-bad. He looked a _lot_ better than half-bad. There was something strangely seductive about seeing Clark looking at him from the batsuit. He swallowed hard, knowing Clark could sense his body's reaction.

Clark looked at Bruce with an apprehensive gaze. "I guess now would be a bad time to be having second thoughts?" he asked.

"No, a bad time would be halfway to Gotham," Bruce said. "Not that now is much better." He stepped forward slowly, aware that Leslie and Alfred were watching each rise and fall of his foot. "You'll be fine," he said. "And when you get back --"

"You'll have a nice cup of tea and discuss your respective psychoses?" Leslie offered.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," Bruce said.

"But just what the doctor ordered," Leslie tweaked his ear and sat down.

"Spoilsport," Bruce muttered. He looked at Alfred then Leslie. "Can, uh, you two give us a minute?"

Alfred's gaze narrowed. "Only that," he warned. "If I hear --"

"I will keep my hands to myself," Bruce promised. "Besides, it's not that easy to get out of the suit."

"Do I even want to know?" Leslie asked.

"No, you probably don't," Clark said, looking chagrined. "Alfred already wishes he didn't."

"Scarred for life," Alfred intoned. He winked at Bruce. "Next time, you gentlemen will simply have to take a suite all to yourselves."

"Sounds good to me," Bruce said. He waited for them to leave before he looked back at Clark. "I wanted to say thank you," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not good with it and I never have been, but I needed to say it this time. If it weren't for you, Clark, I would be dead right now and Gotham would be lost."

He thought about that for a minute and groaned. "That sounded completely ridiculous."

"But it's true," Clark said, gloved hand wrapping around Bruce's. "Gotham came alive because of Batman. You gave that city its self-respect back." He tilted his head, grinning a little. "Not to mention a thriving tourist industry."

"Oh, sure," Bruce said. "Kick a man when he's down; bring up the merchandising."

"Be thankful you haven't met any fangirls yet," Clark said with an air of longsuffering. "Believe me, Bruce, you won't believe it until you see it, but the fangirls are scarier than the merchandising." He Now, do I get a kiss for good luck?"

"I've created a monster," Bruce said. "I wish I was going with you," he said.

"Us, together on patrol, I think I like the sound of that," Clark said. He reached out, brushing his fingers down Bruce's collar bones. "I think we'd make a pretty damn good team."

"Tonight's our chance to find out," Bruce said. He reached into the cowl and activated the camera. "If we can't do this, then there's no way we'll pull it off together in the field."

Clark grinned, stopping him before he could lower the cowl over his head. "We'll do this," he said. Bruce envied him his confidence until he saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "And then we'll do a lot more." He ducked forward, kissing Bruce swiftly. "Maybe we should form a league."

Laughing, Bruce helped him on with the cowl. "I'm not a team player."

"Ah, but you could be," Clark said, his eyes darker as he looked out through Batman's eyes. "Just imagine what we could do together."

"Now _that_," Bruce said, "is a dangerous thing to be suggesting right now." He sat down, his energy drained. "Get moving. You've got a personal appearance to make."

The Batman nodded at him and ghosted back toward the door. Bruce narrowed his gaze and grinned as he realized what Clark was doing. "Stop that. Batman can't walk on air."

Clark's answer was a chuckle as he disappeared off the balcony. A moment later, over the open comm, he added, "A little misdirection never hurt anyone."

"Now that's the spirit," Bruce said, pulling his laptop onto his knees. "Keep that up, and we may pull this off yet."

-

Clark made the flight to Gotham in record time. He didn't like flying in the batsuit. It felt too constrictive and rigid. "I don't know how you wear this thing," he said as Gotham's lights came into view. "It's murder to fly in."

"Well, it wasn't designed for that," Bruce's voice filled his ear.

Hearing the amusement lacing through the words, Clark scowled. "Stop laughing at me. Let's see you wear my suit and see how you like it."

"Oh, I couldn't," Bruce said. "I just don't have the thighs."

The image of Bruce's legs - long, lean, and powerful - filled Clark's mind and his mouth went dry. He wobbled, his flight dipping, as he battled against the tempting distraction. "Jerk," he said.

"Something wrong?" Bruce's voice was too innocent. He knew damn well what he was doing. Ass. Clark scowled, his irritation easily summoned in the dark enclosure of Batman's suit. "You seem a little distracted."

"No, I'm fine," Clark said. "But I won't mind getting out of this suit," he said. His mouth turned up in a smile that could've been called wicked. "I'm sweating my pants off. God, I can't wait to get back to the hotel. That bathroom has the most amazing shower I've ever seen. If you don't mind, I think I'll just spend the rest of the night in there."

He angled down toward the city, skimming closer to the buildings. He would use one as a target, land out of anyone's possible sight, and make his move into the city's streets from there. As he dipped lower, he tapped the earpiece. "Are you okay? You seem a little distracted."

"Fuck you," Bruce's voice, low and raspy, filled his ear. An illicit thrill raced through Clark at the sound of it.

"Maybe later," Clark said. He touched down on a rooftop, slinking toward the shadows. "Right now I'm busy. Any particular area you want me to pay attention to?"

"The Narrows," Bruce's voice evened out. The naked lust that had filled it fading back into the undertone. "It's been a mess ever since the League of Shadows attacked the city. I've been trying to clean it up, but it's a constant battle. Batman should make his appearance there and make it a good one, but be careful. The worst of Arkham's escapees are running the place. Get too close and they'll figure it out."

"Don't worry, if I get _that_ close, they won't know what hit them," Clark said.

"Atta boy," Bruce responded, voice warm with approval.

"How's the video feed?"

"Well, now that you're not moving at breakneck speed, it's pretty good," Bruce said. "I may make it a permanent part of the suit. It might come in handy to have a visual record of certain operations." Clark heard Alfred's voice murmuring in the background. "Yeah, true. Alfred has a point. A constant feed could be a risk."

"Maybe a control on your belt?" Clark looked down at it. The belt seemed to have a compartment for everything. "Though you may have trouble finding room. Is the kitchen sink on here too?"

"Right hip," Bruce said.

"Cute."

"I thought so." Bruce fell silent for a moment. "I still wish I was with you."

Clark found one of Batman's grapples. "We've been over that." He aimed it toward one of the buildings. "Don't worry, before you know it, I'll be chasing you across town."

"That's not what I mean," Bruce said. "And move it a little more to the left. It won't connect from that angle."

Doing as instructed, Clark released the grapple and watched it shoot through the night. "Okay, so if you didn't mean it that way, then what exactly did you mean?"

"I want to watch you move in the suit," Bruce said. His voice took on a dreamy quality that made it hard to concentrate. With the receiver where it was, it was as if he were sitting at Clark's shoulder, murmuring into his ear. Clark found his body reacting and shook his head. Thinking about Bruce Wayne whispering sweet-nothings into his ear was the last thing he needed to be doing. "You have no idea what it was like, watching you put that suit on."

"I think I might," Clark admitted. He tugged the line, making sure it was secure. Not that it concerned him, but he wanted to put on a good show. "Putting it on, you don't know how that affected me. It was like I was slipping into you."

Bruce was silent. The only sound that came over the line was the rough sound of his breathing. Clark listened to that while he waited. He closed his eyes and stood on the edge of the building, wondering what it would be like to fall asleep to that sound. "And to think," Bruce said, the unexpected sound of his voice causing Clark to stumble. He nearly lost his balance and grinned sheepishly as Bruce continued, "I didn't even get dinner first."

"Oh, you're just full of those jokes tonight," Clark said.

"I don't have a choice," Bruce replied. "If I don't laugh it off, I'm definitely going to ignore my doctor's orders and do something very ill-advised. I'll probably injure myself further, but that's fine by me. If I'm going to be bed-ridden, it should damn well be for something I actually enjoyed."

"Keep talking like that and this will be over," Clark said.

"Really?" Bruce actually sounded hopeful.

"Definitely," Clark jumped off the roof, letting the grapple's long line swing him across the street. "If Alfred hears you talking like that, he'll have Leslie sedate you until you're fifty."

"I kind of hate you right now," Bruce said.

"Yes, but imagine how much you'll love me later," Clark said.

"That's what's getting me into trouble in the first place," Bruce grumbled. "You keep wandering around half-naked, carrying me, and breathing and stuff. Do you have any idea what that does to me? I'm so hard right now I can barely think straight."

"Which isn't something you should be telling me right now," Clark tightened up his grip on the grapple and swung forward to land on a window ledge with room to spare. He looked over his shoulder at the distance he'd traveled. "I can't believe you do that every night."

"Look Ma, no superpowers," Bruce said. "It's not fair to distract me, you know. Not very Super of you."

"Maybe not," Clark said. "But that's not the suit I'm wearing right now. Consider this me getting into the spirit of things. Besides, if I don't distract you, then this is going to fail miserably and I am not starting out this partnership with a massive screw up."

"This isn't a partnership," Bruce insisted.

Clark thought of his promise to Alfred and kept silent, he'd let Bruce have that one. "Right," he said. "I forgot." He looked up at the night sky, his hearing stretching out to encompass the city blocks that surrounded them. He listened to the babble of voices full of laughter, fear, and rage. The wild riot of emotion that surrounded him brought a smile to his face. "I can see why you love this city so much."

Whether or not Bruce thought of their relationship as a partnership or not didn't matter. It was, Clark knew it. Just as he knew that neither of them would decide it. Gotham itself would. He listened to the voices around him and felt, in time, Gotham would become as important to him as it was to Bruce.

Almost as important as Bruce himself was becoming.

"Okay," he said as much to himself as Bruce, "let's do this before I lose my nerve."

"I didn't think that was possible," Bruce said.

"I guess there are a lot of things about me you don't know." Clark said. It was true. After everything they'd been through in the short time they'd known each other, it was easy to forget that. So much lay between them that it was hard to remember. "I guess this is where I say we need to talk."

"And I guess this would be where I'd agree with you," Bruce replied. He sounded excited. "We've got a lot of talking to do."

Clark waited. There was something. He could feel it. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. As he looked out into the night, he heard the soft intake of breath that preceded Bruce's next comment.

"Guess that's why God invented pillows."

Clark groaned and shook his head. "You're terrible," he said. Reaching for the grapple, he leapt forward into the night and headed for the Narrows.

-

"You shouldn't tease him so," Leslie said, walking into the room with a plate of food in hand. "Not when you can't do anything about it." She put the plate down on the coffee table. "And you won't be doing anything about it until I say so."

He frowned at her. "I got stabbed, Leslie, I'm not paralyzed."

"No, but you need to treat those wounds with respect," she said. "If you don't then it is highly likely that they will get infected. You don't want them to get infected, Bruce." She patted his cheek. "Not if you want to spend any quality time with that young man of yours."

Despite himself, he grinned. "Did you talk to my father like that?"

"Your mother too," she said. "You listen about as well as they did."

"I'll listen this time," he said. "Cross my heart." He looked at the screen and the dizzying blur that dominated it. He thought about the man on the other end of that connection. "I'm not going to screw this one up, Leslie. I can't."

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder for a moment. "You won't," she said. "He's not going to let you."

Clark's laughter filled his ear. "She's right," he said. "I won't."

"Stop eavesdropping," Bruce scolded. "That's rude."

Leslie turned, looking at the laptop's screen. "Did he hear that?"

"Superpowers," Bruce reminded her.

"Shame on you," she said, wagging a finger at the laptop. "That was a private conversation." Despite her scolding words, she smiled. "And slow down. Batman doesn't move that fast."

The blurs on the camera obediently slowed.

"Sorry," Clark said, apologetic. "I think I got distracted."

Bruce looked up at Leslie, smirking. "He says he's sorry." He turned his gaze back to the laptop and touched the microphone at his jawline. "She's laughing at you."

"No," Leslie said, smacking his shoulder lightly. "I'm laughing at _you_. Stop distracting the boy and let him get on with his work."

"I'm _helping_ the boy," Bruce said. "No way I send him out there on his own."

"Mmmhmm," she said, skeptical. "Eat your dinner. I'm going to go check in with the hospital."

"You don't have to stay here, you know," he said. "I'm doing exactly what you tell me."

She laughed. "I don't recall telling you to molest unsuspecting Kryptonians."

Bruce furrowed his brow. "You didn't? I could have sworn that's exactly what you said." He grinned. "He wasn't unsuspecting, by the way."

"Of course he wasn't," Leslie rolled her eyes. "Eat."

"Hey, Bruce?" The strange note in Clark's voice drew Bruce's gaze toward the screen. "Do you see what I see?"

Bruce waved Leslie off and leaned in. "I see Rupert Thorne."

Clark's voice was quieter when he said, "Isn't he the guy that owns the other half of Gotham?"

"He is," Bruce said. "And if he has his way, now that Falcone's toast, he'll be owning the other half. He's the reason that Mannheim had to blow town after his coup. Thorne's old school. He started out under the Maroni family and Sal Maroni is a mean son of a bitch. Rupert took everything he learned from him, wrapped it up in a veneer of respectability, and used it to gain control over half the city. He's smart, smarter than Falcone, and twice as dangerous."

"So I'm seeing," Clark said, grim. "Is that what I think it is?"

"What?" Bruce asked. "I can't see it." He frowned. "Hang on, let me try something." He pulled the laptop closer, putting the video feed through a number of filters to lighten it up. "Damn. Those are high-end military weapons."

"And armor piercing rounds," Clark said. "While the Bat's away -- "

"The slugs will play," Bruce said, furious. "I think we've found our target, Clark. That stuff isn't going out on the street." Not where it could be used to with impunity on the Gotham police and himself. "Before the night's out, I want Thorne and his toys delivered to Lieutenant Gordon."

"Big red bow on top and everything?" Clark asked.

"Sounds good to me." Bruce said. His fingers itched to grab Thorne. "We're going to need to interrogate him. Do you think you're up to that?" He bit his lip. Hanging people off the side of buildings and caring the hell out of them wasn't exactly Superman's style. He wasn't sure that Clark had it in him.

The silence stretched out between them as Clark moved closer to the action. Bruce recognized it as a deliberate ploy to give himself time to think.

"Those guns were headed for the streets," Clark said. "To be used on the cops."

"They were," Bruce agreed.

Clark sighed heavily. "Disguising my voice is going to be a bitch."

"Just keep it low and grouchy," Bruce said. "You'll be fine." Relieved that Clark couldn't see him, he crossed his fingers. "Just trust me."

-

Balanced on the edge of a ledge, Clark waited for just the right moment before striking. When it came, he plunged forward with the appearance of the same reckless abandon that had become the Batman's trademark. He closed the distance between himself and the first of Thorne's thugs, dispatching them both with carefully thrown punches.

That brought him to the edge of the truck. Just around the corner, he could hear Throne's deep voice as he inspected the weapons.

"Are you sure these will punch through any armor?" Thorne was asking. He didn't say it, but Clark knew just whose armor he meant and so did Bruce.

"He wishes," Bruce said, Batman's voice filling Clark's ear. "Just the same, grab a sample of the bullets for testing."

"I will," Clark murmured, allowing a small smile. "This isn't the first time I've done this you know." He waited for Thorne to turn his back and then moved. A slight tap of his gloved hand against Thorne's head and he slumped to the pavement.

"Awwww shit!" the other man shrieked, stumbling backward. "I'm just a delivery man! I'm just a delivery man!"

"Sure," Clark said in his best approximation of the Batman's voice. He pulled a pair of cuffs from the belt around his waist and grabbed the man before he could run. "We'll just let the police decide that," he said. He left him handcuffed to the truck and disappeared into the night with the mob boss in tow.

"Not bad," Bruce said. "The voice needs work, though."

"Oh sure, like you got it right the first time," Clark said, pulling a grapple off his belt. Firing it up at a gargoyle, he used it to propel them to a higher ledge. Apprehension rose in his throat as he looked at the unconscious man. "I'm not sure that I can do this."

"We don't have a choice," Bruce said. "We need to know who he's buying from. If the Gotham mob has located a source inside the military, we have to find him. Otherwise, we have one hell of a big problem on our hands."

Clark grinned at the use of 'we' and nodded. Bruce was right, but this wasn't exactly in Superman's nature. He looked down at one black-gloved hand and clenched it into a fist.

But he wasn't Superman right now, was he? He grabbed Thorne and followed Bruce's instructions to the letter.

When Thorne woke up moments later, he was suspended off the side of the building with the Batman scowling down at him.

"Fuck," the mobster breathed. "_You_!"

-

In the penthouse, Bruce finished his sandwich and watched the camera with interest. On the screen, Rupert Thorne stared wide-eyed up at Batman. "What do you want?" the mob boss demanded.

"Dangerous question," he said to himself. "All right, Clark, it's showtime. Let's make it good."

On the screen, he saw Clark's gloved hand dart out to give the line a lazy push. Thorne swung outward in a slow arc and drew the man's eyes to the street far below them.

Not a small man, when he gulped in fear, Bruce saw it. His grin hardened and he leaned forward, watching the screen intently. It sent Thorne swinging outward just enough to make the man look down.

"You know what I want," Clark rasped. His voice was low, rough, and absolutely deadly.

Bruce closed his eyes and drew in a measured breath. He opened them again to the sound of Thorne's laughter. He was regaining his composure. This should be interesting. He focused his intent gaze on the screen and waited.

"I'm afraid, Batman, that your performance is wasted on me," he said. "This is a matter of business, you understand. A man who gives his word cannot break it merely at the request of the local vigilante."

Setting his jaw, Bruce scowled. "Dro--" He hadn't gotten the sentence out before Clark let out the line.

Thorne plummeted downward with a yell. He came to a swift stop a moment later, swinging wildly in the air. The camera tilted downward to follow him as Clark leaned forward to look.

"Leave him," Bruce said. "He needs a moment to _appreciate_ his position." He heard a rough sound that might have been a chuckle. "You're enjoying this."

Again that chuckle, with a knowing edge on the sound. "I'm not the only one," Clark murmured. "I can _hear_ you."

Bruce shifted, uncomfortable. His hand reflexively touched the bandages under his t-shirt, but that wasn't the source of his restlessness. "You're hearing wrong," he said.

"You're _hard_," Clark's voice was barely audible. "I can hear the lust in your voice." He began to pull Thorne back up. "You're so hard you can barely think straight. Might want to take care of that."

"Rather you do it," Bruce said, rubbing himself through his jeans. "God, this is twisted."

"The name, Thorne," Clark growled. He gave Thorne another spin, sending him swinging outward. "Give me the _name_. Who sold you the guns? I want his name, Thorne."

"NO!" Thorne growled. "Do you honestly think I'd tell you? I have a business to run, Batman. No one would ever work with me again."

"Who says you'll get the chance?" Clark asked, letting the line play out.

Bruce watched Thorne drop. The menace in Clark's voice slid over Bruce's spine like a lover's caress. He groaned and slid his hand into his pants. His hand was cool against his cock and he caught his breath.

There was a similiar sound from the other end of the open channel. Bruce smirked. "You know what I'm doing, don't you?" he asked, making a slow pass along the length of his cock. He lifted his hips slightly and got more comfortable.

On the screen, 'Batman' brought Thorne to a stop. "You know what I want," he said, yelling to be heard over the wind that had picked up. "Tell me, Thorne. Give me a name! Whoever it is, they wouldn't give a _damn_ about your business interests and you know it. They'd sell you out in a hot second."

"And you thought you couldn't do this," Bruce said in a whisper. "You're _amazing_. You have no idea, Clark, absolutely no idea." He stroked a thumb over the tip of himself and spread the precome along himself.

Clark's ragged breathing filled his ear and Bruce closed his eyes. "I wish you were here," he admitted. "I love watching you like this, but I wish you were here. I wish this was your hand." He groaned and moved his hand faster. In his mind, his hand became Clark's. Gloved fingers closed around him and the weight of the suit pressed against him and lips brushed his neck.

His breathing sped up as he moved, his imaginary Clark expertly jerking him off. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but for now... he moved his fingers, stroking just right, and lurched upward as he came hard.

Bruce relaxed, slumping down onto the couch, and ignored the burning of his stitches. Leslie was going to _kill_ him for this. He grinned. "Well, that was definitely against doctor's orders."

He dragged his eyes open when Thorne hollered. "All right! All right! Let me up and I'll tell you. He's not worth the ruining a perfectly good suit." He spread his hands and smirked. "We are gentlemen after all."

"Good boy," Clark said, his approving voice pitched low. It wasn't meant for Thorne's ears. "And now for the big finish."

He sounded so unrepentantly smug that Bruce choked out a laugh. "Just wait until I get you back here. You're going to pay for that one, cocky bastard."

Clark's response was a soft chuckle. He pulled Thorne up to eye level and poked him. "_Who_?"

"Bruno Mannheim and his new outfit," Thorne said. His smile was wry. "Who would've imagined throwing him out of the town would be so profitable?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said, "didn't see that one coming."

-

Watching the police drag Thorne off, Bruce frowned. "He'll be out in a couple hours."

"Maybe," Clark said. "But we've got what we need."

"True," Bruce said. He looked at the stain on his pants. "And then some." He sighed. "Get back here as fast as you can, okay?"

"Problem?" Clark's voice was sharp.

"No, it's not a problem. Not exactly." Bruce plucked at the stain. "At least, not if you get back here before Alfred or Leslie decides to check on me."

"Oh god," Clark said. "I'm on my way."

-

Leaning against the wall, Leslie folded her arms across her midsection and look at Alfred. "_You_ are handling this one," she said.

He grimaced. "Must we handle it at all?"

She considered it. "Well, I suppose we don't have to." Scratching her elbow, she smiled. "We could just keep it in our quiver so to speak. It could always be brought out for use at a more advantageous date."

Alfred raised a brow. "Blackmail?"

"Leverage," Leslie said. "With that boy, God knows we're going to need it."

He grinned. "I do like the way that you think."

"Speaking of," Leslie looked toward the door. "What do you think about it?"

Alfred drew in a breath. "Don't rightly know yet," he said. "I think I'm going to let it play out a bit before I decide." He looked at her. "You?"

"I don't know either," Leslie said. "The world is changing, Alfred. Surely you can feel it the same as I. It feels as though Batman and Superman are the first of many and if they're to be at the heart of it -- "

He nodded. "Then whatever is between them, it'd damn well better last." Alfred lifted his chin as if daring her to argue. "I think that it just might."

"I thought you were going to wait to decide," she teased.

"I am," he said, "but that doesn't stop a man from having a feeling." She watched a nostalgic smile play over his face. "They remind me of his parents."

"Funny," Leslie said, "I was thinking the exact same thing. You realize, of course, this means we're doomed."

"Oh, absolutely," Alfred nodded. "Couldn't be happier about it, you?"

She laughed and bumped hips with him. "Ecstatic."

-

"Are you sure about this?" Clark asked. He looked up from his laptop, leaving his half-written article on the city's newfound criminal enterprise, at Bruce.

"Yes," Bruce poked at the pillow behind him. "Matches has to make contact. Otherwise, I lose everything I've built and I start over. I don't think I'm going to find an identity as ready-made as his."

"You really should reconsider the league idea," Clark said. He gave Bruce a charming smile. "You're going to spread yourself too thin."

"Says the man who flies around the world," Bruce sat back. "If we're going to talk about being overworked, you might want to look a little closer to home."

He dialed Bruno's private cell and then closed his eyes against the opulence of the room. He couldn't be looking at it when Bruno answered. It would throw him right out of Matches persona again and that couldn't happen.

"Do you want me to leave?" Clark asked. "If I'm a distraction -- "

"No, you're not, " Bruce said, his voice taking on Matches confident swagger, "just say quiet and you'll be fine." He took a breath and rolled his shoulders as the rings went in.

They stopped and Bruno barked a "What do you want?"

"Geez, Boss, that the way you talk to all your friends?" Matches said, snickering. "No wonder business is shit lately. Course, with the crew you've got working for you, no wonder. Am I the only decent guy you've got?"

"Matches?" Bruno thundered. "Where the fuck are you? I've had guys looking all over town."

That got a snort from Matches. "Bullshit, Boss. Considering I'm in the fucking hospital, I ain't that hard to find." Which Bruno already knew. Matches knew the Bat had checked into it. "No way you missed it. All those boys in blue outside my door and all."

"You turn on me, Matches?" Bruno asked, as blunt as ever. "Cops listening on the other line, just waiting for me to say something good?"

"Fuck, no," Matches snapped. "I swiped the cell off one of the nurses. Needed to warn you about the son of a bitch that stuck me."

"You see him?"

"Yeah," Matches said. "That little prick Flint double-crossed us."

"Flint?" Bruno roared. "_Flint_?"

"I had a run-in with Big Blue," Matches said. "Caught him following me, figured I'd have a chat. The kid must've seen us, figured I was selling you out, and decided to take a little initiative."

"Like I pay him to think," Bruno growled. "I'll kill the little bastard."

"Nah," Matches said. "I got a better idea." Opening his eyes, Bruce looked at Clark and grinned. "We're gonna use him to get me the fuck out of here."

-

**Epilogue:**

"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here," Superman said, settling down atop the Daily Planet. "Aren't you a little out of your territory?"

The shadow he'd been addressing moved forward into the light. Batman's lips twitched into a faint grin. "That would be my problem lately, wouldn't it?"

"I didn't want to say anything," Superman said. "But yeah, come to think of it, you have had a problem with that." He looked him over, seeing no sign of the injuries that had hampered him. "You look good."

"Feel better than I look," Batman said. He moved moved closer, his step so smooth he seemed to ghost across the roof. "I'm here to say thank you."

Superman raised an eyebrow. "You've done that before." He nearly smiled. "Very effusively, all things considered."

Batman stood straight, but Superman saw the quick grin of amusement. "I wanted to make it official," he said. "It's my first night -- "

"Back in the suit," Superman nodded. "I know." He'd been doing double-duty for weeks. "Your first full night."

Batman grimaced. "Yes," he gritted out.

Clark let the persona drop and snickered to himself. "God, you aren't still pissed about that, are you?"

Bruce glowered at him from the cowl. "You _kidnapped_ me," he said, his voice slipping back into normal register. "You plucked me off the roof and _kidnapped me_."

"Leslie said you had to take it easy," Clark folded his arms, completely unrepentant. "That meant abbreviated patrols whether you liked it or not and I wasn't going to let you argue. Besides, it isn't as if I didn't make it up to you." He smiled, remembering the feeling of Bruce's skin against his. Over and over again, practically from the _moment_ Leslie had given them the okay.

"You did," Bruce said with a smirk. "The most unique physical therapy I've ever had." He looked down at the city. "How's Mannheim?"

"Trouble," Clark's good humor vanished. "We've had three murders and an abbreviated turf war. Remind me again why letting Intergang establish a presence in the city was a good idea?"

"It's the devil you know," Bruce said. "Mannheim is a bastard, but the guys I see coming up are worse. We're headed for something that I really don't like the look of." He looked down at the city. "Intergang's going to be the least of our worries."

"We'll handle it," Clark said confidently. "After what we just handled, we don't have a choice."

"True," Bruce smiled. "It'd be embarrassing to fall apart now."

"My point exactly," Clark nodded. With a quick look about them, he ensured they were alone. "So, this weekend?"

"We're on," Bruce said. "I'd kiss you, but -- "

"I know, I know, it's bad for the reputation," Clark said, grinning. "You can make it up to me this weekend."

"Don't I always?" Bruce asked.

Clark chuckled. "I'll see you later," he said, taking to the air. Pausing above the Planet, he looked down to watch Bruce disappear back into the shadows.

He tapped the transmitter in his ear. "God, I love watching you do that."

Batman's chuckle filled his hearing. "Quit mooning. Go rescue a cat from a tree."

Superman smiled. "Yes, _honey_," he said, before flying away into the night.


End file.
